It's a joke, of course, but it wouldn't be unfair to say that it's likely difficult to tell. Vergil's humor and tone both tend to be wryer than most. Still, Vergil is well-aware that the lack of their paths crossing recently is hardly Mizu's sole responsibility. The half-devil is a scarce sight to see about and he rarely makes himself available for conversation for long. He's had very little reason to change that, more than content keeping largely to himself beyond what's strictly necessary to sustain himself in this place. Even now, Vergil would argue that in spite of him taking the time to track Mizu down, it remains true that he'd keep to himself when given the choice. It's pragmatics, he would argue, that's brought him here. He doesn't trust the relative peaceful nature of this place, and he refuses to allow himself to grow complacent.
Perhaps especially with Yamato beyond his reach still.
So, reasonably, kata can only ensure a certain degree of sharpness to his skills. Much as a predator needs to hunt for its continued survival, Vergil needs to put his skills to more use than the disciplined, practiced motions he's been maintaining on his own. Fighting beasts has never been his preference.
Hence why he put the effort into finding Mizu.
"Have you found many worthy opponents here?"
He's naturally heard of it and the sorts of lessons they offer, but Vergil hasn't paid Agrona a visit. Nor has he felt the need to bother until now. Vergil hardly knows the make up of those that frequent the place and put their skills to the test, but there's nothing that suggests to him it would be a good fit and he wouldn't find himself bored rather quickly.
Mizu raises an eyebrow at the declaration. She lives nowhere near anyone else, that is true, but she doesn't go out of her way to avoid people. Mizu simply does what she wants, whatever other people are doing. She did go to one event to gain a large pot of Lore. A few hours of her time. It paid better than some assassination jobs. Without the information about her habits or happening upon her rare comments on the relic's social connections, it would be difficult to find her. She knows about tracking down hard to find people. She had to do it back home.
It pleases her a little that Vergil put in that effort and as much again that he'd admit it. Stupid foolish feeling, but it makes her want to draw the plain sword she drew from the book that first day and fight him there and then.
"Not that I've tested myself, but I find it interesting to watch some people at Agrona Academy. There's one man who will fight any comers."
She's learned from watching others her whole life, and Mizu isn't above learning techniques far beyond the norm for Japan. Whatever pieces will be useful for her, she will take. However, she prefers the freedom to come and go as she pleases, rather than taking a class.
Vergil's response comes first as a grunt of acknowledgment, although his unyielding stern expression could just as easily cause it to read as one of derision. It's also not as though Vergil would ever do the same, finding that sort of indiscriminate acceptance of a challenge to be beneath him and his skills. But it hardly matters to him one way or another what another man does with his time, so it's ultimately met with neutrality. What Vergil really finds of more interest to him is Mizu's acknowledgement that he hasn't exactly immersed himself in the academy fully beyond observation. It's not with any sort of judgment that Vergil finds himself interested so much as something to note. He's heard enough about Agrona to know of its structure and discipline. Not attaching oneself to that structure says something about Mizu as a warrior.
It seems some of the threads of similarity between them continues.
"This place hasn't been of much interest to me. With the exception of a brief time in my childhood, I've always preferred to train alone."
He can almost still smell and feel the heat of the forge when his eyes eventually open the next morning. Faintly he thinks better that than any lingering sort of ache on the crown of his head with how many times a pair of tongs made contact with it. And yet... Vergil knows the feelings attached to what he just witnessed and experienced are not entirely his own but rather those that belong to Mizu and come coupled with the memory itself. But he knows his own irritation at being struck would not outweigh the fondness Mizu clearly holds for Master Eiji. So, even if there were some phantom sensations related to that, Vergil doesn't think he could be particularly irritated with them any more than he had been over the criticisms of imperfect knives. They weren't easy lessons, but they were important ones, and ones given to Mizu freely as a father would give to his son. Vergil would never admit it aloud, but he knows it made his heart ache a little over the lessons his own father could never give him, and even more over the lessons he lost the opportunity to give to Nero.
Usually, the moment Vergil is awake, he is up and moving. He makes his bed. He dresses. He decides whether or not he feels like eating something, and then he sets about his day. This morning Vergil lingers a little longer in his bed, however, rolling over onto his back to look up at the ceiling. It's not because of what he experienced that he's left lying there, looking up at the ceiling, but because of what he knows Mizu experienced in return. Vergil squeezes his eyes shut tight enough to begin seeing bursts of stars behind his eyelids, the bile of his nightmares seemingly right there at the edge in the back of his throat as the true form of that memory works its way into his mind. One of Vergil's hands curls into a fist and he lightly thumps it against the mattress before opening his eyes. This is precisely why he avoided the fox's games as much as he did. There was just simply no telling what private matters, what old wounds the fox spirit would dredge up all on a whim.
He draws a deep breath and sits up, pushing off the covers and putting both feet on the floor. Hunched over with his elbows resting on his thighs, Vergil sits for a moment as he tries to identify an alternative to what he knows what will inevitably happen. But the alternatives are childish at worst, stopgaps at best. He inevitably has to face Mizu again regardless of what he does. So, better to face it head on rather than attempting to take a more cowardly approach and avoiding Mizu altogether or simply waiting for the other swordsman to come to him. Vergil rises from his bed and goes about his morning routine as per usual, taking some small comfort in the fact that Mizu did not witness his ultimate shame and failure at the hands of his father's enemy, and that meant Vergil likely won't need to address what came next beyond what he saw.
Skipping breakfast, the half-devil pulls on his jacket and gloves before leaving the relative safety of his apartment to search for Mizu. He knows enough of Mizu's habits to know generally where in Folkmore to look, but he doesn't make use of his demonic form to cover more ground through flight quickly. Instead, he uses the time to calm his mind, dismissing thoughts of defeat and his regrets. He turns over the memory of Master Eiji, recognizing that while far less of a sore wound as his conflict with his brother, he also didn't know fully how Mizu would feel knowing Vergil experienced something like that. Mizu is just as prone as Vergil to keeping his past to himself after all, and it was still wasn't something Mizu willingly parted with and had been private until Thirteen deemed it no longer to be as much. But perhaps even if there may be mild resentment toward Thirteen for the violation of his privacy, it won't necessarily weigh so heavily in their...relationship with one another. Mizu has already spoken a little of his upbringing, and not just the loss that drives him to seek revenge. Perhaps there's a chance that it sits a little better with Mizu as a next natural step in what's been spoken rather than something torn from him. And maybe it was a good reminder that there was someone out there who cared for him despite his single-minded quest for revenge and the toll it would inevitably take. Perhaps seeing Vergil's own mistake of ignoring and throwing Dante aside in contrast to that could provide a bit of thought for Mizu. That the loneliness that he's chosen doesn't have to be the only thing for him in his life.
Regardless, Vergil won't know until he finds Mizu.
It does not feel like morning when Mizu wakes. She leaps out of bed, sword quickly drawn, only to find quiet near silence in her cabin. She's in Folkmore, not some demon realm. The sensation of falling was so strong, even upon waking, that the familiar sight feels off. The sword in her hands is the one the fox spirit granted her, not one of Vergil's. Not Mirage Edge, which she has actually held, much less Yamato. That was a feeling she hasn't had in some time: wielding a sword that is hers and meant for her. Yamato isn't hers, but that feeling was there in the dream, a rightness and purpose that comes only when wielding one's sword. The rest, the fight against his own brother who uses guns, is more foreign. Mizu an outsider, for all that she was Vergil in the dream. The dream that was more than a dream. She's certain of that.
One thing at a time. Mizu sheathes the sword she uses and finds the box containing her sword that the fox spirit returned to her, whole and unbroken, shortly upon her arrival. Mizu kneels before it and stares at the sword. It's hers, but it is brittle. Wrongly made. It broke where a good sword should not. Her sword should not. It is her sword, but Mizu cannot wield it knowing its flaws, the flaws she made with it. Mizu longs for a sword of her own, as she has her whole life, but the dream makes that sharp and cutting. There is no Yamato for Mizu. She must forge one. She must make new steel again and make the right sword.
Master Eiji would bonk her on the head and rightly so. Mizu presses lightly against the top of her head. It isn't sore, but she wishes it were. She wishes she got to see swordfather again. It's been months, and she still doesn't know who she is. If she can be the person he said she can. They were kinder words than those the first time she left. Avoiding her sword, avoiding working on her sword, she's avoided learning the answer to the question.
It must be done right. Mizu has some things, but she needs more. She gets ready for the day in a perfunctory manner before leaving to make the trek to the train station and to the rest of Folkmore. Epiphany comes first. She can buy anything with Lore, but Lore is not the answer she wants. Not what's right. Mizu's only a block away from the train station when she sees Vergil. She stops, considers, and adjusts course. It makes sense that he is looking for her, whether it is about what she saw or what he saw. Mizu prays the memory didn't reveal... anything particular about her body. It didn't feel like it would in what she experienced, but they are dealing with a fox spirit. Anything is possible.
"Vergil," Mizu says, far less certain on these grounds than what she had been doing. She doubts he wants to discuss it in public in a busy space. "Shall we get tea?"
They could spar. Mizu would be willing and feels she's gained a deeper understanding of his moves. It would be interesting to see what that changes. However, it doesn't seem likely to be what Vergil's looking for after what happened.
Vergil is cajoled from his ruminating at the sound of his name. He looks up first, likely giving away how lost in his own thoughts he was even as he was seeking Mizu out, before he looks around his gaze centers on Mizu.
"Yes. That would be fine," he agrees, a little stilted and on just as uncertain grounds as Mizu. Vaguely, he thinks, he could have done with a little more time before finding the other swordsman. But then again... There probably wouldn't be enough time in all the world for Vergil to untangle all of his thoughts adequately before conversing with Mizu about the matter. He is, unfortunately, far too prone to tying himself up in such mental knots when given the time to do as much. It is perhaps for the best Mizu appeared to seek him out as well.
Of course, now they must walk together. Normally, this would not necessarily be such an issue. Loath as they are both to engage in small talk, idle conversation has been coming a little easier these days to occupy the space before lapsing back into a comfortable silence. But when it's so plain that they both have much to say and ask, the silence feels unnaturally meaningful. Which makes small talk all the worse than usual.
"I have been thinking," he says, compelled to say something and reaching for anything he can think of that doesn't feel like the sort of inane discussions others have about the weather, their sleep or food, or whatever other daily drudgeries another Star Child might consider an appropriate, light topic of conversation. "I'd like to try something with you, but you need to not be a stiff breeze away from losing your balance. So, it will need to be before next we spar, not after."
There's a flash of metal, flame, and blue. Nero's boots dig into the snow behind him, stopping him cold. Red Queen is out in front of him in an attempt to guard, but Mizu's sword has gone past it. The blue, glowing claw of his wing has caught the blade less than an inch from sinking into his gut, holding it still even as he feels the pressure of the man trying to push it further.
"Okay," he says abruptly. "I think that's enough. I'm done."
They've not been going long, maybe about ten minutes. But he's noticing a pattern there that's sticking in his craw, and this is the last straw.
His wing pushes the blade to the side and lets go, and he takes a step back. "Good fight."
To Mizu's credit, she stops. Mizu pulls back her sword and sheaths it. It's an unsatisfying end to a somewhat unsatisfying spar. Oh, Nero is skilled enough, that's not the problem, but the way he fights her is entirely in line with what he said when they first met. Less not taking her seriously, more refusing to seriously try against her. Add in the, what, offense at Mizu taking the spar seriously, and it's an aggravating fight, not a good one.
Compared to sparring Vergil, Mizu feels practically uninjured in any way. Still, she kneels in the snow, sitting on her heels, and steadies herself enough to find a calm state of mind. The cold seeping into her shins help along with a couple steady breaths. Mizu empties her mind, lets go of the frustration, and in mere moments heals every injury no matter how small. That's it. Completely healed. No recovery period.
Mizu looks up sharply at Nero. "I'm fine, and no matter the injuries you give me, I will be fine. There's no reason to hold back as much as you did."
"It's a spar, not a deathmatch," he replies. Mizu can be pissed if he wants to, but apparently they never did really settle the disagreement in just how hard they were going to go here.
"I told you, I'm not gonna hurt you on purpose. It doesn't really matter how fast you heal." He straps Red Queen to his back and rolls his left shoulder, stretching it out. "You're damn good. You broke my guard more than once. You don't need to actually run me through."
On this particular day, he's wandering the streets of Epiphany, heading back to the residence Vergil has for himself here. He'd found the convenience store around here and they just so happened to have the very things he'd been looking for. Couple bottles of alcohol, bag of strawberry flavored candy, box of pizza rolls he'd been meaning to try before ending up in the Underworld and then finding himself here in Folkmore... it's wild how the store seemed to have it all, but! He's not complaining. Will absolutely not do such a thing.
He's sucking on a hard strawberry candy, paper bag tucked under his arm there at his chest with one of the bottles held at his side with his other hand, fingers wrapped around the neck of it. It takes him a second to recognize Mizu there — squints a little with a small lean in, but. When he figures out who it is, he chuckles some to himself and rolls the strawberry flavored candy around in his mouth as he comes up.
"Should I be turnin' around and headin' the other way?" Implying that Mizu is heading off to see Vergil, that is.
People are social and friendly in Folkmore, as are the spirits, so while Mizu is not the most approachable or friendly person in Folkmore, far from it, it's hardly a surprise someone might approach her on the street. It's one reason she lives in Wintermute far from any neighborhood or other people more generally. Mechanical dogs make better (distant) neighbors.
Except it's no stranger that approaches but a notably cleaner better smelling version of Vergil's brother. Mizu considers the direction both Dante and Mizu seem headed in. They could readily both go the canteen with no issue. Farther than that, however, is Satori Hills. Vergil's studio apartment that Vergil, Dante, and even Nero have been sharing. Right.
"I would not do anything requiring an expectation of privacy in Vergil's apartment at the moment, but even so, no. I'm finding a place to eat, not a place to fuck."
Eyebrows raise at that little comment there and he can't help but chuckle some around the candy he still has in his mouth there. Lot more blunt than his big brother, that's for sure. He'd probably die if he ever heard Vergil phrase it like that, to be honest.
"Damn, just put a sock on the doorknob like everyone else. No need to spell it out like that. Some of us are pure and innocent." Not him. Far from it, but. If he didn't give Mizu shit for that, he just wouldn't be himself, now, would he?
Still, he glances over the way back to the residence and then smiles lazily to Vergil's partner. Is that what they are? Did he ever actually confirm this beyond I like them? Well, anyways.
"Seriously, though. If that's where you're headed I'll give you an hour because I gotta pop these babies in the freezer." A pat to the bag, referring to the pizza rolls he's looking forward to trying later.
When he portals to Mizu's cabin by himself, he always makes sure the portal in Wintermute opens outside her cabin. He doesn't do it as unnecessary courtesy, of course. She's given Vergil leave more or less to come and go as he pleases. So, even if he were to portal in and find the cabin empty, he would be permitted to stay until she returned without any sort of issue. Likewise, even if she were in the middle of something, there is nothing that he could possibly interrupt that she would wish to hide from him. His reasoning is that even with as safe as Folkmore relatively is when compared the dangers she faces back home, he knows Mizu avoids becoming lax. A sudden intrusion, even a welcomed one, would still likely put Mizu unnecessarily on edge even for just a moment. So, at least by portaling outside the cabin, she has the opportunity to recognize the sounds as him rather than needing to react to something so suddenly close and in her space.
At least then if she means to greet him with a sharp blade, that's by her choice then rather than instinct.
Tonight, however, he would prefer that's not how she chooses to greet him when he appears outside her cabin. It's not particularly late into the evening, but one would not be able to tell this time of year in Wintermute. Although not as bothered by the cold as he would be were he not half-demon, Vergil still isn't keen on remaining outside for long once the portal behind him closes. He crosses the short distance to her front door, and lets himself into the warm cabin.
"Mizu," he calls to her as he steps inside, just in case she was upstairs and did not hear the noise outside well enough. Vergil sets down both the bag he was carrying and Yamato so that he can shrug off his coat, hanging it up in the entryway. He also takes the time to toe off his boots. They didn't accumulate much snow, but he'd still rather not drag it around through her home. As he takes them off, he says, "I hope you didn't have any particular plans for tonight."
Frankly, Vergil doesn't anticipate that she does. It's New Year's Eve, but she's not exactly the sort to want to go out and socialize at a party. Which is why he didn't bother telling her in advance that he planned on making toshikoshi soba with her, and wanted it to be more of a surprise. It seemed the better choice than presenting her with a Christmas present. Not that Vergil thinks she would have opposed a gift at Christmas, but... Well, Vergil knows well enough from their conversations that it would certainly be a little more complicated than either of them would likely prefer. This, however, was something she hopefully had some experience with if his research was at all correct. Or even if she did not have direct experience, she would have at least perhaps heard of it.
He picks up the bag of ingredients and leaves Yamato by the doorway, stepping out of her entry way and more properly in the cabin.
"I also hope you haven't..." Vergil trails off as he catches sight of her, stopping almost mid-step as he does. His head tilts as the beginnings of a smile tugs at one corner of his lips as he looks her up and down. "Mizu... Is that my shirt?"
It's not exactly as though Vergil and Mizu have overlapping tastes and preferences in their clothes, so he knows it is, and she knows it is. He just probably wasn't meant to see her in it.
Mizu trained for hours and worked for hours more in the forge from early in the day. Although there is some chance that Luan Street might have some activities she's used to, the coming of the new year, even one by the Western calendar, along with the passage of more than a year in Folkmore reminds her of how long it has been since she saw swordfather, Ringo, and anyone else. They may not miss her. Should the fox spirit keep its promise, they have not missed her a single moment, yet she has been without them for a prolonged period of time. She went as far as a shrine in Wintermute (they're less common here, but she's lived here nearly the entirety of her sojourn in Folkmore) and lit some incense in thoughts of them. That final trek through the snow in the dark meant she was soaked upon her return. Mizu bathed, and when it came time to dress again, well, she has no plans to leave her cabin for the night and no reason to suspect anyone will visit her.
So she ends up on the sofa reading about winter traditions in London in Vergil's shirt. It still smells of him, though the scent grows faint given how many nights she's worn it since he last did. He will likely spend the night soon, based off how their pattern has settled, and Mizu will get a new shirt to wear in the evenings or nights that he is not. So far as routines go, theirs is a good one, and now that she visits him, sometimes her clothes smell a little of him when she comes home.
The sound of someone's arrival is a familiar one that means Vergil. Mizu smiles before looking down in alarm. She looks at the stairs, but the door opens and Mizu refuses to be caught fleeing upstairs in Vergil's shirt even more than she'd prefer not to be caught in it at all. Her cheeks redden when she catches sight of Vergil because that means he can see her and exactly what she's wearing.
Mizu closes the book and sets it aside on the nearby table. She crosses her arms, flushing further at the question, and looks just to the side of his face. "It was in my closet."
As though that's a particularly compelling argument.
It's easy for Nero to get lost when he's working in his garage, caught up in his music and whatever tinkering he's doing. But rarely is he ever so distracted he doesn't observe people passing by or coming and going-- let's just call it superstition.
So as he works in the garage this afternoon, music blasting, hands stained with engine grease, he notices when a familiar face comes lurking around the front of the house, either headed for the front door or lingering there to wait.
Nero figures he may as well save him some time.
"He's not here," he calls to Mizu, stepping out of the garage as he wipes his hands clean with a cloth. "Went to the library for the day. Sorry."
Vergil's gotten Mizu the habit of reading at home, so that she doesn't go to the library as early. It lets her get some research in around taking care of the forge. Further, for the last week, she's tended to Kai. Horses need a lot, and her cabin isn't well suited to it. At the moment. A farmer in Willow has graciously let Mizu host Kai there (coaxing the horse onto the train had been an adventure all its own). She wants her horse with her, and she means to talk with Vergil about it. Only two people in all of Folkmore know of her horse: the fox spirit (presumably) and Vergil. One of them likes her a great deal more than the other.
Yet Vergil left no note and hasn't mentioned Kai. So—
Mizu turns toward the garage. She's not surprised Nero's there. He regularly works there, but Mizu doesn't approach him when she comes by, and he tends to leave her and Vergil be. It's... something. She nods and turns to go. "Thank you for letting me know."
Mizu pauses and turns back around. She holds up a cloth bag, inside which are a few boxes of pizza pockets. They're nearly identical to the ones Dante shared, except without olives. "Would you put these in the freezer?"
"You really don't intend for us to sit in here all day, do you?" Vergil asks in a tone that's easily the most agitated and irritable Mizu has ever heard Vergil sound. He does not know whether his sour mood is a credit to how he is feeling physically—and he is not feeling well, if he's completely honest—or if simply being more or less cooped up in his bedroom for several days is taking its toll more severely than it had in the beginning.
He hasn't eaten much over the course of the days that he's been forced to stay in bed. It's less of a loss of appetite and more than subsequent stomach cramping seems to always ensue at a minimum and swift, forceful expulsion of what he's consumed on the worse end of it. So, whatever bit of hunger every now and again Vergil feels, he tends to ignore until he cannot any longer. That length of time does not appear to be nearly as long as it ought to be, as it typically is, however. Vergil believes it to be evidence of how hard his body is working in trying to manage all his other symptoms that hunger is so quick to return to him.
At this point, Vergil's torn through a few boxes of tissues, and he's had to swallow his pride a few times and ask Nero to read to him when the sinus pressure and headaches become unbearable. The most movement he's been permitted by his nursemaid of a son is generally around his room to tend to his indoor plants, to the bathroom by himself (though not without Nero vaguely hanging about), and to the couch if he wishes for a vague change of scenery. (Vergil supposes he would be permitted into Dante's room as well if he wanted, but his brother's untidy room is not something he wishes to find himself sequestered to for any particular length of time. Nor does he wish to listen to Dante's coughs and sneezes when he's already so sick of listening to his own.) He has yet to admit it aloud, but Nero's suspicions that Vergil looks faint, dizzy, and a little unsteady on his feet are not misplaced. There have been a few times where such movements have left him feeling exhausted in a way he has not felt since... Well, since a little over a year ago now. And that's not to mention the patches of unfamiliar scales that itch almost incessantly. Vergil avoids picking and scratching at the affected areas as much as he can since it only seems to expedite their spread, but he still inspects them often all the same.
Oddly enough, it's the scales he hates most of all. When he tried to access his even further accelerated healing through transforming, he learned quickly that the scales remain. The physical reminder of whatever blight he's managed to contract is enough for Vergil to be more agitated about the scales than anything else.
But even with how he feels physically, Vergil has not been discouraged from trying his damnedest to wear Mizu down enough to let him out of the house. Some part of him recognizes it to be a futile task, of course. Nero wouldn't allow it, and while Mizu does not answer to him, they are clearly in a coalition of sorts with one another when it comes to the matter of Vergil's care. Thus, given Mizu is not one to change course once it has been decided all that often, it's a false hope that Mizu might allow Vergil to venture outside the house as a secret between them. Especially when this is not like the situation on the train in that it is not nearly so heavy a matter and Vergil is without reasons that appear so much less selfish on their surface. But he argues for it akin to a petulant child whose gentler requests were denied previously all the same and huffing and puffing is all he has left.
It is strange to see Vergil laid so low. In the entirety of the time Mizu's known him, Vergil has always been strong and hale, not even exhausted by the end of their sparring sessions when he so often carries Mizu to her place or his, cooks an entire meal, and makes sure she eats it before or after resting a while herself. He stays and watches over her until he deems she's rested enough as Mizu would otherwise frequently be of the opinion she need not rest at all or only a moment before being on her way. Even after being out in the wilds of Folkmore for a week, when Mizu and most people were safely held within Amrita Academy, he had plenty of energy before he chose to sleep before her.
The illness spreading through Folkmore is no secret to Mizu. She's heard others discuss it when she rides the train, visits her favorite tea house, or otherwise is out in public. That it might affect Vergil—Vergil!—hadn't crossed her mind until faced with the reality of the matter. It's a sign of the fox spirit's interference, for surely nothing else could touch him. It's enough for her to change all her plans. Set aside is her time in the forge or at Kuma Lisa Academy, set aside is fighting demons in Cruel Summer or riding Kai for hours, set aside is everything but him.
In his right mind, that would be enough for Vergil to understand how seriously she takes the matter. So many times Mizu's wanted Vergil to ask her for more, but this irresponsible idiocy is not what she has in mind. In the same manner swordfather treats her even to the last time she saw him, Mizu lightly bonks Vergil on the head. Lacking her tools, her sheathed sword does the job.
"You are at liberty to lie down if sitting becomes too tiresome an activity," Mizu tells him. And more teasingly, "How many times have you enticed and tricked and begged me to stay in bed for hours more together? Today is your lucky day because you will have me here the whole day long."
They don't often return to Vergil's shared home after sparring. Mizu's cabin affords her the privacy she prefers, allowing her to clean up more fully and change her clothes without concern. Not that Vergil believes anyone in the house would barge in on her alone or with him in any of the spaces she would seek privacy from. Bathroom doors remain firmly respected, especially with Kyrie in the house, and Vergil's bedroom door is treated much the same when Mizu is visiting. But Vergil has not pushed the matter, and doesn't have any intention of doing so. Even if Mizu (hopefully) no longer feels quite like an intruder within the home, it still is not her space. She lacks the control over it that she possesses when it comes to her cabin, particularly the privacy of the upstairs. So, with distance as a negligible thing since the Yamato was returned to Vergil's possession, it only makes sense that they most often return to her cabin afterwards so that she has the same opportunity to truly wash away the signs of their sparring the same as him. But the house was more or less within walking distance today, and even if it did not promise Mizu's preferred privacy, it promised good food.
Upon their arrival to the house, Vergil left Mizu in his bedroom to finish recovering and to clean herself up to the extent she felt comfortable. He isn't gone long. Vergil showers quickly and efficiently in order to return to her as soon as possible. Part of it is driven by the simple desire to be near her, but part of it is also out of a want to ensure her limited privacy is protected as much as possible. When he does return to his room cleaner and with no visible signs of having sparred at all, Vergil only opens the door as much as he needs to enter, closing it behind himself almost immediately.
He finds Mizu in front of his closet rather than on his bed where he left her. Tipping his head in mild curiosity what she's doing, he joins her by wrapping his arms around her from behind. Her clothes are not exactly ruined or so dirty and disheveled that she would be prone to some degree of self-consciousness should she find herself in the presence of his family. And while the hour is later, it still isn't late enough for sleep when she sometimes indulges in her habit of sleeping in one of his shirts. Vergil presses a kiss to her shoulder as he draws her in close. He remains mindful of any potential soreness she might still possess while holding her so firmly, even if he knows Mizu would be unlikely to complain.
"Surely I did not take so long that you had the time to grow bored enough to begin contemplating sleep," he says.
After a year with her healing ability, Mizu has improved greatly. Even with the many injuries sustained sparring, she sits crossing her legs, meditates a moment, and heals everything greater than a bruise. The bruises she earned, and Mizu has no intention of letting them go so quickly. She wipes away the remaining blood and looks roughly presentable. None of the cuts to her clothes are so large as to need immediate sewing. While not washed clean, it's more than enough. She can bathe when she gets home.
Vergil's room offers something of greater interest, and Mizu opens his closet to consider the options. Her wrists are wrapped in iron, part of her usual outfit, and she touches one as she eyes them. They arrived in their clothes, nothing in their pockets, no weapons. They should return in them as well. It is not so simple as wearing Vergil's shirt when she leaves, but if she takes something and makes it hers, makes it a part of her, surely that should be enough.
She runs her hand along the edges of them, familiar with the rotation of Vergil's shirts. Is it better to take one that means more, to have with her, or one he will not miss, not to deprive him? Vergil steps up behind her, and Mizu leans back into him. She smiles at the memory of each sore point and finds that meditative space of no thoughts, only the enjoyment of being in Vergil's arms. The warmth, the safety, and more than anything the feeling of being loved.
"Only theft, not sleep," Mizu says, "What shirt I might part from you permanently."
It has been some time since he stood outside this cabin. Except unlike last time, Vergil took the long way of traveling here, boarding the train and making the hike from the remote station to this even further remote cabin with its still fairly recently constructed nearby stable. He does not believe he traveled such a slow, normal manner because his resolve was in danger of wavering. Were that the case, surely, he would not be stood here at all. He would know he was not ready to be here if such a mild test of his will would bring him to abandon what he set out to do so readily. But still, Vergil felt he needed to be certain. He needed each moment, every step that brought him closer to this place was with purpose and his will. Because unlike this journey, Vergil does not know where the path forward leads, but he knows it must be walked all the same. Step by step. No shortcuts. No lingering doubts.
Breathing deep, there is no familiar scent of the forge lingering about in the air, and he can hear no sounds from the stable that would suggest Mizu is anywhere but inside. (And he trusts she's there from the smoke rising from the chimney.) He exhales, his breath visible in the cold Wintermute air even at this time of year. He climbs the steps, setting the heavy basket he's brought along with him down upon the top step before approaching the door.
Out of habit, Vergil very nearly reaches for the doorknob to let himself in, but he catches himself before even the tips of his fingers touch the cold metal. It's not that he thinks Mizu would mind if he did simply stroll into her cabin even after so much time apart, but it doesn't... It doesn't feel right. It feels a step ahead of where they are right now even if she no doubt heard his footsteps on the stairs and likely knows it to be him. So, Vergil lets his hand drift back to his side for a moment before raising it to knock instead. It feels such a strange, awkward thing to do when, for as long as he's known her, Mizu has always preemptively invited him inside before such need for invitation was deemed unnecessary. He glances aside in his discomfort at having knocked, trying not to question the decision as he waits for Mizu to open the door. The moment she does, Vergil very nearly jumps out of his skin like a child caught with his hand in the sweets jar, and his gaze darts to her immediately.
He stares at her. He imagines it to be quite stupidly for how long he does not say anything. Until he realizes he's staring and not saying anything. Vergil glances away briefly, his face a little warmer for letting himself be taken so off-guard by just the sight of her. It's not as though he had begun to forget what she looked like or something like that, nor had he been incapable of envisioning her or even this moment in his mind's eye. And yet... There was something about coming face-to-face with Mizu again. Privately shaking it off, Vergil looks at Mizu when he speaks.
"...Hello."
To his credit, Vergil's expression does not change and he does not avert his gaze even as he turns just a touch pinker for his troubles, but he cannot help immediately kicking himself and there's no small part of him that would perhaps opt into the ground opening up beneath him to swallow him whole. Weeks away, closer to a month, more than enough time to think of what he might say upon their reunion no matter the tone of it, and the most he can manage upon seeing her again is hello?
Her life has a new rhythm of late. In many ways it reminds her of her first month in Folkmore, that time between their arrival and meeting in the library and Vergil tracking Mizu down to her remote cabin. The place was fully furnished then, if not reflecting Mizu's tastes, but it's more lived in now with the forge, the stable, and the contents subtly shifted. These weeks have taken Vergil's scent from everything, despite all she's done, and the poetry books do not read the same in her voice as his. Other books have joined his, and Mizu continues her studies at home. He could find her in the library easily enough, he lives in Epiphany, but Mizu doubts Vergil would choose to find her there. So when she is not riding Kai, exchanging books at Kuma Lisa Academy, or earning what Lore she needs to support a horse (and herself), she's at home.
A quieter more solitary existence, perhaps. Vergil isn't the only absence in her life in Folkmore, if hopefully a less permanent one. The time calls for contemplation and work, not the forging of new social bonds with people Mizu doesn't yet care about. They aren't the relationships she's been reading about or for, nor does she trust talking the matter over with someone who would not understand the predicament of commitment to her revenge and her love for Vergil. One reason they bonded so closely comes from that common understanding. Now that she feels the pull of Vergil, away from what she's devoted so much of her life to, she knows he understands that too. He walked away from Nero's mother. He didn't walk away from Mizu. He might, if he cannot believe her, if he cannot— if anything.
Vergil isn't leaving, but he might not stay. It depends on her answer. It depends on her. That should be reassuring. It's in her hands, but Mizu doesn't trust herself entirely. Days in meditation, cold soaks, and attempts at scholarship have helped, but there's no sure fire way to know without moving forward, without some risk of hurting Vergil again. She does not care for the fact that communication, self-awareness, and practice are what it takes but not enough to guarantee doing it right. Vergil isn't one of a thousand practice knives, whose balance can be off and set aside. He's a blade that must be handled right or else dooms her.
She hears the steps outside her door, and in a thoughtless move shoves the book she's reading under a pillow. Vergil does not immediately open the door and enter. It's him, the steps were exactly the way he approached the door, the sound one of a myriad familiar things missing in her life. He knocks, and Mizu almost tells him to enter. Except there's more books around, books about relationships. Mizu quickly hurries about the room and gathers them, along with her separate journal with notes on them, to the side. She stacks a couple books on England atop them for good measure and congratulates herself on a job well done.
A long deep breath steadies herself, whatever this interaction might bring, and Mizu answers the door. Vergil stands there, and Mizu breathes in again. Beyond the crisp air, she catches his scent, long missing from his shirts and books and everything of his she still has. Mizu wants him inside, sitting on the couch, holding a book, and exchanging the shirt he's wearing for one laundered in her closet upstairs. That normalcy isn't there. If it were, she wouldn't be in such short supply of the faintest part of his company. It's... Mizu isn't sure. Vergil chose to come—to do what? He may not wish to step inside, where he could see the spot she collapsed. Mizu's not entirely sure where the spot is. Her memories leading up to her collapse are blurred and fuzzy, the world around her coming in and out of focus. Afterward, she could find no blood stains on the floor. He'd cleaned them up while caring for her. It's... somewhere not far behind her, somewhere he might not wish to see.
"Hello," Mizu answers uncertainly. She recognizes he's blushing, for no discernible reason, and would carry the conversation further if she knew how. Mizu glances behind her. "I have tea."
It's a statement, not an outright invitation. A tacit one, should he want it or to enter her home. Vergil remains welcome, that open invitation stands despite her fuckups. Mizu wants him to know that, and it's easier to say she has tea than to discuss the heart of the matter. He might not be ready for her answer. He certainly need not worry himself with the way she storms away from reading about British history to ride Kai until she can breath again. Until she won't take public transit. Mizu doesn't entirely understand it, but she hasn't fought demons, no matter how hard she's breathed and gripped tight reins. Not that she's made any notable progress on that research (but anything at all, and there she is riding, Kai as happy as can be).
Mizu shifts her weight and waits. Is the basket to cook here? Is it books? It is to gather his things? Mizu tries not to make assumptions. He'll tell her.
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It's a joke, of course, but it wouldn't be unfair to say that it's likely difficult to tell. Vergil's humor and tone both tend to be wryer than most. Still, Vergil is well-aware that the lack of their paths crossing recently is hardly Mizu's sole responsibility. The half-devil is a scarce sight to see about and he rarely makes himself available for conversation for long. He's had very little reason to change that, more than content keeping largely to himself beyond what's strictly necessary to sustain himself in this place. Even now, Vergil would argue that in spite of him taking the time to track Mizu down, it remains true that he'd keep to himself when given the choice. It's pragmatics, he would argue, that's brought him here. He doesn't trust the relative peaceful nature of this place, and he refuses to allow himself to grow complacent.
Perhaps especially with Yamato beyond his reach still.
So, reasonably, kata can only ensure a certain degree of sharpness to his skills. Much as a predator needs to hunt for its continued survival, Vergil needs to put his skills to more use than the disciplined, practiced motions he's been maintaining on his own. Fighting beasts has never been his preference.
Hence why he put the effort into finding Mizu.
"Have you found many worthy opponents here?"
He's naturally heard of it and the sorts of lessons they offer, but Vergil hasn't paid Agrona a visit. Nor has he felt the need to bother until now. Vergil hardly knows the make up of those that frequent the place and put their skills to the test, but there's nothing that suggests to him it would be a good fit and he wouldn't find himself bored rather quickly.
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It pleases her a little that Vergil put in that effort and as much again that he'd admit it. Stupid foolish feeling, but it makes her want to draw the plain sword she drew from the book that first day and fight him there and then.
"Not that I've tested myself, but I find it interesting to watch some people at Agrona Academy. There's one man who will fight any comers."
She's learned from watching others her whole life, and Mizu isn't above learning techniques far beyond the norm for Japan. Whatever pieces will be useful for her, she will take. However, she prefers the freedom to come and go as she pleases, rather than taking a class.
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It seems some of the threads of similarity between them continues.
"This place hasn't been of much interest to me. With the exception of a brief time in my childhood, I've always preferred to train alone."
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<txt> USERNAME0175
text | un: swordsman
Let us see your techniques, so the sword will suit them and you.
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a text and then, suddenly, action. days late.
Re: a text and then, suddenly, action. days late.
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the downside of my character knowing way more than I do. Glossin' some stuff over.
absolutely a-okay same same
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backdated to may's trial!
Usually, the moment Vergil is awake, he is up and moving. He makes his bed. He dresses. He decides whether or not he feels like eating something, and then he sets about his day. This morning Vergil lingers a little longer in his bed, however, rolling over onto his back to look up at the ceiling. It's not because of what he experienced that he's left lying there, looking up at the ceiling, but because of what he knows Mizu experienced in return. Vergil squeezes his eyes shut tight enough to begin seeing bursts of stars behind his eyelids, the bile of his nightmares seemingly right there at the edge in the back of his throat as the true form of that memory works its way into his mind. One of Vergil's hands curls into a fist and he lightly thumps it against the mattress before opening his eyes. This is precisely why he avoided the fox's games as much as he did. There was just simply no telling what private matters, what old wounds the fox spirit would dredge up all on a whim.
He draws a deep breath and sits up, pushing off the covers and putting both feet on the floor. Hunched over with his elbows resting on his thighs, Vergil sits for a moment as he tries to identify an alternative to what he knows what will inevitably happen. But the alternatives are childish at worst, stopgaps at best. He inevitably has to face Mizu again regardless of what he does. So, better to face it head on rather than attempting to take a more cowardly approach and avoiding Mizu altogether or simply waiting for the other swordsman to come to him. Vergil rises from his bed and goes about his morning routine as per usual, taking some small comfort in the fact that Mizu did not witness his ultimate shame and failure at the hands of his father's enemy, and that meant Vergil likely won't need to address what came next beyond what he saw.
Skipping breakfast, the half-devil pulls on his jacket and gloves before leaving the relative safety of his apartment to search for Mizu. He knows enough of Mizu's habits to know generally where in Folkmore to look, but he doesn't make use of his demonic form to cover more ground through flight quickly. Instead, he uses the time to calm his mind, dismissing thoughts of defeat and his regrets. He turns over the memory of Master Eiji, recognizing that while far less of a sore wound as his conflict with his brother, he also didn't know fully how Mizu would feel knowing Vergil experienced something like that. Mizu is just as prone as Vergil to keeping his past to himself after all, and it was still wasn't something Mizu willingly parted with and had been private until Thirteen deemed it no longer to be as much. But perhaps even if there may be mild resentment toward Thirteen for the violation of his privacy, it won't necessarily weigh so heavily in their...relationship with one another. Mizu has already spoken a little of his upbringing, and not just the loss that drives him to seek revenge. Perhaps there's a chance that it sits a little better with Mizu as a next natural step in what's been spoken rather than something torn from him. And maybe it was a good reminder that there was someone out there who cared for him despite his single-minded quest for revenge and the toll it would inevitably take. Perhaps seeing Vergil's own mistake of ignoring and throwing Dante aside in contrast to that could provide a bit of thought for Mizu. That the loneliness that he's chosen doesn't have to be the only thing for him in his life.
Regardless, Vergil won't know until he finds Mizu.
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One thing at a time. Mizu sheathes the sword she uses and finds the box containing her sword that the fox spirit returned to her, whole and unbroken, shortly upon her arrival. Mizu kneels before it and stares at the sword. It's hers, but it is brittle. Wrongly made. It broke where a good sword should not. Her sword should not. It is her sword, but Mizu cannot wield it knowing its flaws, the flaws she made with it. Mizu longs for a sword of her own, as she has her whole life, but the dream makes that sharp and cutting. There is no Yamato for Mizu. She must forge one. She must make new steel again and make the right sword.
Master Eiji would bonk her on the head and rightly so. Mizu presses lightly against the top of her head. It isn't sore, but she wishes it were. She wishes she got to see swordfather again. It's been months, and she still doesn't know who she is. If she can be the person he said she can. They were kinder words than those the first time she left. Avoiding her sword, avoiding working on her sword, she's avoided learning the answer to the question.
It must be done right. Mizu has some things, but she needs more. She gets ready for the day in a perfunctory manner before leaving to make the trek to the train station and to the rest of Folkmore. Epiphany comes first. She can buy anything with Lore, but Lore is not the answer she wants. Not what's right. Mizu's only a block away from the train station when she sees Vergil. She stops, considers, and adjusts course. It makes sense that he is looking for her, whether it is about what she saw or what he saw. Mizu prays the memory didn't reveal... anything particular about her body. It didn't feel like it would in what she experienced, but they are dealing with a fox spirit. Anything is possible.
"Vergil," Mizu says, far less certain on these grounds than what she had been doing. She doubts he wants to discuss it in public in a busy space. "Shall we get tea?"
They could spar. Mizu would be willing and feels she's gained a deeper understanding of his moves. It would be interesting to see what that changes. However, it doesn't seem likely to be what Vergil's looking for after what happened.
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"Yes. That would be fine," he agrees, a little stilted and on just as uncertain grounds as Mizu. Vaguely, he thinks, he could have done with a little more time before finding the other swordsman. But then again... There probably wouldn't be enough time in all the world for Vergil to untangle all of his thoughts adequately before conversing with Mizu about the matter. He is, unfortunately, far too prone to tying himself up in such mental knots when given the time to do as much. It is perhaps for the best Mizu appeared to seek him out as well.
Of course, now they must walk together. Normally, this would not necessarily be such an issue. Loath as they are both to engage in small talk, idle conversation has been coming a little easier these days to occupy the space before lapsing back into a comfortable silence. But when it's so plain that they both have much to say and ask, the silence feels unnaturally meaningful. Which makes small talk all the worse than usual.
"I have been thinking," he says, compelled to say something and reaching for anything he can think of that doesn't feel like the sort of inane discussions others have about the weather, their sleep or food, or whatever other daily drudgeries another Star Child might consider an appropriate, light topic of conversation. "I'd like to try something with you, but you need to not be a stiff breeze away from losing your balance. So, it will need to be before next we spar, not after."
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cw: mention of attempted child murder
CW: references to fire, drug addiction, and betrayal/killing within the family
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cw: allusion to torture & mind control
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CW: references to fire, death from fire, and murder including children
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THE (last five seconds of the) SPAR
"Okay," he says abruptly. "I think that's enough. I'm done."
They've not been going long, maybe about ten minutes. But he's noticing a pattern there that's sticking in his craw, and this is the last straw.
His wing pushes the blade to the side and lets go, and he takes a step back. "Good fight."
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Compared to sparring Vergil, Mizu feels practically uninjured in any way. Still, she kneels in the snow, sitting on her heels, and steadies herself enough to find a calm state of mind. The cold seeping into her shins help along with a couple steady breaths. Mizu empties her mind, lets go of the frustration, and in mere moments heals every injury no matter how small. That's it. Completely healed. No recovery period.
Mizu looks up sharply at Nero. "I'm fine, and no matter the injuries you give me, I will be fine. There's no reason to hold back as much as you did."
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"I told you, I'm not gonna hurt you on purpose. It doesn't really matter how fast you heal." He straps Red Queen to his back and rolls his left shoulder, stretching it out. "You're damn good. You broke my guard more than once. You don't need to actually run me through."
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🛍️
He's sucking on a hard strawberry candy, paper bag tucked under his arm there at his chest with one of the bottles held at his side with his other hand, fingers wrapped around the neck of it. It takes him a second to recognize Mizu there — squints a little with a small lean in, but. When he figures out who it is, he chuckles some to himself and rolls the strawberry flavored candy around in his mouth as he comes up.
"Should I be turnin' around and headin' the other way?" Implying that Mizu is heading off to see Vergil, that is.
Re: 🛍️
Except it's no stranger that approaches but a notably cleaner better smelling version of Vergil's brother. Mizu considers the direction both Dante and Mizu seem headed in. They could readily both go the canteen with no issue. Farther than that, however, is Satori Hills. Vergil's studio apartment that Vergil, Dante, and even Nero have been sharing. Right.
"I would not do anything requiring an expectation of privacy in Vergil's apartment at the moment, but even so, no. I'm finding a place to eat, not a place to fuck."
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"Damn, just put a sock on the doorknob like everyone else. No need to spell it out like that. Some of us are pure and innocent." Not him. Far from it, but. If he didn't give Mizu shit for that, he just wouldn't be himself, now, would he?
Still, he glances over the way back to the residence and then smiles lazily to Vergil's partner. Is that what they are? Did he ever actually confirm this beyond I like them? Well, anyways.
"Seriously, though. If that's where you're headed I'll give you an hour because I gotta pop these babies in the freezer." A pat to the bag, referring to the pizza rolls he's looking forward to trying later.
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NYE
At least then if she means to greet him with a sharp blade, that's by her choice then rather than instinct.
Tonight, however, he would prefer that's not how she chooses to greet him when he appears outside her cabin. It's not particularly late into the evening, but one would not be able to tell this time of year in Wintermute. Although not as bothered by the cold as he would be were he not half-demon, Vergil still isn't keen on remaining outside for long once the portal behind him closes. He crosses the short distance to her front door, and lets himself into the warm cabin.
"Mizu," he calls to her as he steps inside, just in case she was upstairs and did not hear the noise outside well enough. Vergil sets down both the bag he was carrying and Yamato so that he can shrug off his coat, hanging it up in the entryway. He also takes the time to toe off his boots. They didn't accumulate much snow, but he'd still rather not drag it around through her home. As he takes them off, he says, "I hope you didn't have any particular plans for tonight."
Frankly, Vergil doesn't anticipate that she does. It's New Year's Eve, but she's not exactly the sort to want to go out and socialize at a party. Which is why he didn't bother telling her in advance that he planned on making toshikoshi soba with her, and wanted it to be more of a surprise. It seemed the better choice than presenting her with a Christmas present. Not that Vergil thinks she would have opposed a gift at Christmas, but... Well, Vergil knows well enough from their conversations that it would certainly be a little more complicated than either of them would likely prefer. This, however, was something she hopefully had some experience with if his research was at all correct. Or even if she did not have direct experience, she would have at least perhaps heard of it.
He picks up the bag of ingredients and leaves Yamato by the doorway, stepping out of her entry way and more properly in the cabin.
"I also hope you haven't..." Vergil trails off as he catches sight of her, stopping almost mid-step as he does. His head tilts as the beginnings of a smile tugs at one corner of his lips as he looks her up and down. "Mizu... Is that my shirt?"
It's not exactly as though Vergil and Mizu have overlapping tastes and preferences in their clothes, so he knows it is, and she knows it is. He just probably wasn't meant to see her in it.
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So she ends up on the sofa reading about winter traditions in London in Vergil's shirt. It still smells of him, though the scent grows faint given how many nights she's worn it since he last did. He will likely spend the night soon, based off how their pattern has settled, and Mizu will get a new shirt to wear in the evenings or nights that he is not. So far as routines go, theirs is a good one, and now that she visits him, sometimes her clothes smell a little of him when she comes home.
The sound of someone's arrival is a familiar one that means Vergil. Mizu smiles before looking down in alarm. She looks at the stairs, but the door opens and Mizu refuses to be caught fleeing upstairs in Vergil's shirt even more than she'd prefer not to be caught in it at all. Her cheeks redden when she catches sight of Vergil because that means he can see her and exactly what she's wearing.
Mizu closes the book and sets it aside on the nearby table. She crosses her arms, flushing further at the question, and looks just to the side of his face. "It was in my closet."
As though that's a particularly compelling argument.
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Pizza Pizza
So as he works in the garage this afternoon, music blasting, hands stained with engine grease, he notices when a familiar face comes lurking around the front of the house, either headed for the front door or lingering there to wait.
Nero figures he may as well save him some time.
"He's not here," he calls to Mizu, stepping out of the garage as he wipes his hands clean with a cloth. "Went to the library for the day. Sorry."
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Yet Vergil left no note and hasn't mentioned Kai. So—
Mizu turns toward the garage. She's not surprised Nero's there. He regularly works there, but Mizu doesn't approach him when she comes by, and he tends to leave her and Vergil be. It's... something. She nods and turns to go. "Thank you for letting me know."
Mizu pauses and turns back around. She holds up a cloth bag, inside which are a few boxes of pizza pockets. They're nearly identical to the ones Dante shared, except without olives. "Would you put these in the freezer?"
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a handful of days into being lore sick cw: emeto reference
He hasn't eaten much over the course of the days that he's been forced to stay in bed. It's less of a loss of appetite and more than subsequent stomach cramping seems to always ensue at a minimum and swift, forceful expulsion of what he's consumed on the worse end of it. So, whatever bit of hunger every now and again Vergil feels, he tends to ignore until he cannot any longer. That length of time does not appear to be nearly as long as it ought to be, as it typically is, however. Vergil believes it to be evidence of how hard his body is working in trying to manage all his other symptoms that hunger is so quick to return to him.
At this point, Vergil's torn through a few boxes of tissues, and he's had to swallow his pride a few times and ask Nero to read to him when the sinus pressure and headaches become unbearable. The most movement he's been permitted by his nursemaid of a son is generally around his room to tend to his indoor plants, to the bathroom by himself (though not without Nero vaguely hanging about), and to the couch if he wishes for a vague change of scenery. (Vergil supposes he would be permitted into Dante's room as well if he wanted, but his brother's untidy room is not something he wishes to find himself sequestered to for any particular length of time. Nor does he wish to listen to Dante's coughs and sneezes when he's already so sick of listening to his own.) He has yet to admit it aloud, but Nero's suspicions that Vergil looks faint, dizzy, and a little unsteady on his feet are not misplaced. There have been a few times where such movements have left him feeling exhausted in a way he has not felt since... Well, since a little over a year ago now. And that's not to mention the patches of unfamiliar scales that itch almost incessantly. Vergil avoids picking and scratching at the affected areas as much as he can since it only seems to expedite their spread, but he still inspects them often all the same.
Oddly enough, it's the scales he hates most of all. When he tried to access his even further accelerated healing through transforming, he learned quickly that the scales remain. The physical reminder of whatever blight he's managed to contract is enough for Vergil to be more agitated about the scales than anything else.
But even with how he feels physically, Vergil has not been discouraged from trying his damnedest to wear Mizu down enough to let him out of the house. Some part of him recognizes it to be a futile task, of course. Nero wouldn't allow it, and while Mizu does not answer to him, they are clearly in a coalition of sorts with one another when it comes to the matter of Vergil's care. Thus, given Mizu is not one to change course once it has been decided all that often, it's a false hope that Mizu might allow Vergil to venture outside the house as a secret between them. Especially when this is not like the situation on the train in that it is not nearly so heavy a matter and Vergil is without reasons that appear so much less selfish on their surface. But he argues for it akin to a petulant child whose gentler requests were denied previously all the same and huffing and puffing is all he has left.
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The illness spreading through Folkmore is no secret to Mizu. She's heard others discuss it when she rides the train, visits her favorite tea house, or otherwise is out in public. That it might affect Vergil—Vergil!—hadn't crossed her mind until faced with the reality of the matter. It's a sign of the fox spirit's interference, for surely nothing else could touch him. It's enough for her to change all her plans. Set aside is her time in the forge or at Kuma Lisa Academy, set aside is fighting demons in Cruel Summer or riding Kai for hours, set aside is everything but him.
In his right mind, that would be enough for Vergil to understand how seriously she takes the matter. So many times Mizu's wanted Vergil to ask her for more, but this irresponsible idiocy is not what she has in mind. In the same manner swordfather treats her even to the last time she saw him, Mizu lightly bonks Vergil on the head. Lacking her tools, her sheathed sword does the job.
"You are at liberty to lie down if sitting becomes too tiresome an activity," Mizu tells him. And more teasingly, "How many times have you enticed and tricked and begged me to stay in bed for hours more together? Today is your lucky day because you will have me here the whole day long."
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mild backdate to late june
Upon their arrival to the house, Vergil left Mizu in his bedroom to finish recovering and to clean herself up to the extent she felt comfortable. He isn't gone long. Vergil showers quickly and efficiently in order to return to her as soon as possible. Part of it is driven by the simple desire to be near her, but part of it is also out of a want to ensure her limited privacy is protected as much as possible. When he does return to his room cleaner and with no visible signs of having sparred at all, Vergil only opens the door as much as he needs to enter, closing it behind himself almost immediately.
He finds Mizu in front of his closet rather than on his bed where he left her. Tipping his head in mild curiosity what she's doing, he joins her by wrapping his arms around her from behind. Her clothes are not exactly ruined or so dirty and disheveled that she would be prone to some degree of self-consciousness should she find herself in the presence of his family. And while the hour is later, it still isn't late enough for sleep when she sometimes indulges in her habit of sleeping in one of his shirts. Vergil presses a kiss to her shoulder as he draws her in close. He remains mindful of any potential soreness she might still possess while holding her so firmly, even if he knows Mizu would be unlikely to complain.
"Surely I did not take so long that you had the time to grow bored enough to begin contemplating sleep," he says.
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Vergil's room offers something of greater interest, and Mizu opens his closet to consider the options. Her wrists are wrapped in iron, part of her usual outfit, and she touches one as she eyes them. They arrived in their clothes, nothing in their pockets, no weapons. They should return in them as well. It is not so simple as wearing Vergil's shirt when she leaves, but if she takes something and makes it hers, makes it a part of her, surely that should be enough.
She runs her hand along the edges of them, familiar with the rotation of Vergil's shirts. Is it better to take one that means more, to have with her, or one he will not miss, not to deprive him? Vergil steps up behind her, and Mizu leans back into him. She smiles at the memory of each sore point and finds that meditative space of no thoughts, only the enjoyment of being in Vergil's arms. The warmth, the safety, and more than anything the feeling of being loved.
"Only theft, not sleep," Mizu says, "What shirt I might part from you permanently."
And keep, she hopes, as long.
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Breathing deep, there is no familiar scent of the forge lingering about in the air, and he can hear no sounds from the stable that would suggest Mizu is anywhere but inside. (And he trusts she's there from the smoke rising from the chimney.) He exhales, his breath visible in the cold Wintermute air even at this time of year. He climbs the steps, setting the heavy basket he's brought along with him down upon the top step before approaching the door.
Out of habit, Vergil very nearly reaches for the doorknob to let himself in, but he catches himself before even the tips of his fingers touch the cold metal. It's not that he thinks Mizu would mind if he did simply stroll into her cabin even after so much time apart, but it doesn't... It doesn't feel right. It feels a step ahead of where they are right now even if she no doubt heard his footsteps on the stairs and likely knows it to be him. So, Vergil lets his hand drift back to his side for a moment before raising it to knock instead. It feels such a strange, awkward thing to do when, for as long as he's known her, Mizu has always preemptively invited him inside before such need for invitation was deemed unnecessary. He glances aside in his discomfort at having knocked, trying not to question the decision as he waits for Mizu to open the door. The moment she does, Vergil very nearly jumps out of his skin like a child caught with his hand in the sweets jar, and his gaze darts to her immediately.
He stares at her. He imagines it to be quite stupidly for how long he does not say anything. Until he realizes he's staring and not saying anything. Vergil glances away briefly, his face a little warmer for letting himself be taken so off-guard by just the sight of her. It's not as though he had begun to forget what she looked like or something like that, nor had he been incapable of envisioning her or even this moment in his mind's eye. And yet... There was something about coming face-to-face with Mizu again. Privately shaking it off, Vergil looks at Mizu when he speaks.
"...Hello."
To his credit, Vergil's expression does not change and he does not avert his gaze even as he turns just a touch pinker for his troubles, but he cannot help immediately kicking himself and there's no small part of him that would perhaps opt into the ground opening up beneath him to swallow him whole. Weeks away, closer to a month, more than enough time to think of what he might say upon their reunion no matter the tone of it, and the most he can manage upon seeing her again is hello?
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A quieter more solitary existence, perhaps. Vergil isn't the only absence in her life in Folkmore, if hopefully a less permanent one. The time calls for contemplation and work, not the forging of new social bonds with people Mizu doesn't yet care about. They aren't the relationships she's been reading about or for, nor does she trust talking the matter over with someone who would not understand the predicament of commitment to her revenge and her love for Vergil. One reason they bonded so closely comes from that common understanding. Now that she feels the pull of Vergil, away from what she's devoted so much of her life to, she knows he understands that too. He walked away from Nero's mother. He didn't walk away from Mizu. He might, if he cannot believe her, if he cannot— if anything.
Vergil isn't leaving, but he might not stay. It depends on her answer. It depends on her. That should be reassuring. It's in her hands, but Mizu doesn't trust herself entirely. Days in meditation, cold soaks, and attempts at scholarship have helped, but there's no sure fire way to know without moving forward, without some risk of hurting Vergil again. She does not care for the fact that communication, self-awareness, and practice are what it takes but not enough to guarantee doing it right. Vergil isn't one of a thousand practice knives, whose balance can be off and set aside. He's a blade that must be handled right or else dooms her.
She hears the steps outside her door, and in a thoughtless move shoves the book she's reading under a pillow. Vergil does not immediately open the door and enter. It's him, the steps were exactly the way he approached the door, the sound one of a myriad familiar things missing in her life. He knocks, and Mizu almost tells him to enter. Except there's more books around, books about relationships. Mizu quickly hurries about the room and gathers them, along with her separate journal with notes on them, to the side. She stacks a couple books on England atop them for good measure and congratulates herself on a job well done.
A long deep breath steadies herself, whatever this interaction might bring, and Mizu answers the door. Vergil stands there, and Mizu breathes in again. Beyond the crisp air, she catches his scent, long missing from his shirts and books and everything of his she still has. Mizu wants him inside, sitting on the couch, holding a book, and exchanging the shirt he's wearing for one laundered in her closet upstairs. That normalcy isn't there. If it were, she wouldn't be in such short supply of the faintest part of his company. It's... Mizu isn't sure. Vergil chose to come—to do what? He may not wish to step inside, where he could see the spot she collapsed. Mizu's not entirely sure where the spot is. Her memories leading up to her collapse are blurred and fuzzy, the world around her coming in and out of focus. Afterward, she could find no blood stains on the floor. He'd cleaned them up while caring for her. It's... somewhere not far behind her, somewhere he might not wish to see.
"Hello," Mizu answers uncertainly. She recognizes he's blushing, for no discernible reason, and would carry the conversation further if she knew how. Mizu glances behind her. "I have tea."
It's a statement, not an outright invitation. A tacit one, should he want it or to enter her home. Vergil remains welcome, that open invitation stands despite her fuckups. Mizu wants him to know that, and it's easier to say she has tea than to discuss the heart of the matter. He might not be ready for her answer. He certainly need not worry himself with the way she storms away from reading about British history to ride Kai until she can breath again. Until she won't take public transit. Mizu doesn't entirely understand it, but she hasn't fought demons, no matter how hard she's breathed and gripped tight reins. Not that she's made any notable progress on that research (but anything at all, and there she is riding, Kai as happy as can be).
Mizu shifts her weight and waits. Is the basket to cook here? Is it books? It is to gather his things? Mizu tries not to make assumptions. He'll tell her.
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