"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."
The bonk is light and gentle, but his head feels so thoroughly full that he still winces at the contact with a frown. It's not the sort of thing that would bother him enough to wince under normal circumstances, which speaks to just how extraordinary this all is in the absence of all the other obvious evidence regardless of whether it is his mood or his physical state that ultimately causes him to react.
"That is when I am not confined to bed for days at a time," he says, bristling a little at the teasing. That is most certainly a consequence of his mood to have such defensiveness emerge. "These four walls is all I have known for days. I am only permitted to read or sleep without someone hovering over me as though I were an incompetent child. And even then, I rarely am afforded that much."
Vergil pauses, but not because he feels the need to be more thoughtful with his words as so often his pauses are meant to serve. It is a shortness of breath that strikes instead. In not wanting the impending thinness of his voice to undermine his argument that he is well enough to walk outside, he pauses. Subtly as he can, he catches his breath and smothers a cough by reaching for and taking a drink from his nearby glass of water.
With a little sniffle as he lowers the glass back down, he continues, "It's not that I am ungrateful for your company, but this is not how I wish to spend time with you. Not now. You would feel the same were our positions reversed."
All too familiar with the way she bristled under his care, Mizu takes no offense at his attitude in response to her. It's a natural response to such restriction, and Vergil is all the less used to it than most hale, healthy men who might yet fall prey to common illnesses as they pass through communities. Swordfather, may he stay healthy and well, rarely gets sick because he lives outside Kohama and spends his days to his craft. A solitary life but a healthy one. It's one reason Mizu rarely gets sick herself. Different reasons than Vergil, but she's been laid low many a time.
"Could I use the Yamato to slice through reality and carry you a handful of steps to my bed, I would consider it," Mizu says, "That not being the case, the bed must be your own."
The other consideration being that Mizu suspects Nero may still drop in on them, even with Mizu watching. At least, the fact he can drop in likely eases his mind, even if he needs a break from caring for two sick people at once. She knows Dante is similarly bedridden, and unlike Vergil, Mizu has little interest in watching over him. Nero hasn't been to her cabin in Wintermute, and as with nearly every single person in Folkmore, Mizu prefers it that way.
Her attention focuses on Vergil, and though he may mask as much of the problems as he can, what remains obvious and visible to Mizu is enough. He needs the rest, and much as she bristled at his requirement she recover, fully, between sparring matches, she did so. He made her do so. It's not the same as being sick, she knows, but the restriction is familiar enough.
"You are sick, and you need rest. How either of us wishes to spend time together must be set aside. Letting you do as you will now would only require I carry your exhausted form back the thirty steps inside you made it out, and you'd be the worse for it," Mizu says. "I promise you may have a whole day of my company, to spend time with as better pleases you, once you are well enough to enjoy it."
Vergil huffs a sigh when Mizu begins to speak. She does not need to finish her sentence or say more for him to know the answer has not budged at all in his favor. Even if she talks of that possibility of the bed being hers—which he does not believe for a second Nero would allow even if it were possible when he was already hesitant about what this illness could do to a human if it were contagious; that would just send the child into a spiral of anxiety about what might happen if Mizu were to fall ill and they were both stuck there and blah blah blah—all Vergil hears is another bed.
Setting aside his glass, he folds his arms. And just like that, he sinks a little lower until he's in a pronounced slouch. If his bottom lip were out, he'd be in a full pout like this. He retains just enough of his dignity and maturity not to do that, but Vergil still rolls his eyes at the promise of another day spent doing as he pleases with her. They both know that by the time he is healthy enough, he will have no desire to place any demand upon her as far as what they do together is concerned. He will have returned to his normal routines by then, and have the full breadth of his daily life by then that there will be no great urge as there is now. He glares over towards a corner of his bed hard enough that it's a small wonder that it does not spontaneously catch on fire.
"Rest does nothing for this," he spits back without looking at her. "I am the same as I was the day before and shall be the same tomorrow regardless of what I do beyond being in an even more foul mood than I find myself now. Assuming, of course, that I do not begin losing my mind from being held prisoner in my own bedroom and begin paranoid ramblings about the walls themselves."
Vergil talks enough that his breathing grows harsher and he has to take a moment to catch his breath. It's just enough that his frustration spikes his temper. He's not one to speak at length unless he feels the need to outweighs his natural inclination for silence and quiet, and yet he cannot speak as much as he would like to now because of these damned symptoms. Vergil shakes his head and roughly scoots himself the rest of the way down, rolling over and turning away from Mizu. He does not bother with slipping under his covers, stubbornly refusing to be in bed properly as a petty act of defiance against the restrictions placed upon him.
"You've wasted your time in coming here today. I'm not in the mood for company, not even yours. Go home, Mizu."
The unusual nature of the illness is a valid point to make. Rest may not make Vergil better, but pushing himself is far more likely to make it worse. Staying the same level of ill is preferable to getting worse. There's nothing pressing on his time that requires him to go now. It is not like Mizu tracking down her fathers, where delays to heal might mean losing them for years further. Vergil's resistance to staying in bed and healing is frustration with the circumstances of his health and its lack. Mizu holds no concerns about Vergil turning to paranoid ramblings because people forcibly look after him. It will simply be more misery until the fox spirit's illness can be conquered.
He does not need to know that the lure of curing someone she cares about works. Mizu regularly goes to the dojo in Wintermute to travel in the strange boats and fight the corrupted corpses inside of people. Fight. Cage. Abandon. Repeat. None of it has helped Vergil thus far, and that is likely purposeful on the fox spirit's part, but Mizu only hopes that enough people partake that someone will cure Vergil. Until then... this.
Vergil turns his back on her, rejects her company, and tells Mizu to leave. In other circumstances, it'd be everything she fears in a relationship, what she'd expect to have happen. However, even in his frustration, Vergil's words limit the strength of his words. She wasted her time today. He doesn't want her company today. He wants her to leave for the day, for the time he's sick. As petty and childish as he's acting, there's little sting to it.
Mizu stays because she's far too stubborn to be put off by that. If he were in full health and did not wish her company, she'd respect it, but here, for all he says, he needs watching. He'll be no more free of it if she leaves. Only it'd be Nero. Mizu sits on the bed and leans against the wall. She pulls one of a few books from her bag. She opens it and clears her throat. "I thought you might like someone else's company."
Keats to be exact. A man who was ill and wasn't going to get better. Someone whose words can express feelings around pain and illness better than Mizu ever can. She's not as good as Vergil at reading poetry aloud, but Mizu tries her best.
Although he feels the weight of her on the bed, the mattress dipping as she settles nearby, Vergil does not look over his shoulder at her. He does not so much as spare a glance even as Vergil hears the familiar creaks of a book's spine as its opened. Stubbornly, he glares out the window, at the outside world that he's being denied and resolves himself to outright ignoring Mizu. If need be, of course. He could absolutely envision a scenario in which she simply sits there on his bed, nearby and reading more about London. If anything, in that situation, he would be the one ignored.
But as it is, neither comes to pass.
Vergil is still foolish enough to believe he could steel himself well enough to avoid and ignore her, and he makes an effort to do so. But every one of those efforts is spent in vain. She reads words of poetry to him, and Vergil cannot resist the urge to listen. To eventually recite little portions of the verse to her before she has a chance to read it from the book before allowing her to continue. It's not exactly a call and response, but neither is it a correction. It is them. Together. He goes from his back to her, to facing her on his side. Not long after has Vergil slipped into her lap. From where he is and can see, he reads alongside her silently until his eyes feel too tired to continue. He lets his eyes fall shut, and he begins to drift then. In and out. Sometimes its her voice. Sometimes it's an idle touch from her like fingers in his hair. But she falls in and out of focus as sleep tugs at him.
Vergil does not ultimately acquiesce to it by the time the book is closed even if he does not open his eyes.
"You did not need to bring that with you," he says, unable to mask just how close he is to sleep with the edge of his temper earlier dulled completely. "His works are in the anthology Nero gave me for Christmas."
With great effort, Vergil rolls over. He looks up at Mizu briefly, for as long as he can open his bleary eyes before they fall shut and he settles back down just a little further. Much as his words may sound it, he's not dismissing the gesture.
"You've never needed that book at all though, have you?"
She brought it here for the same reason she has it in the first place. It's for him. Something Vergil has never really acknowledged before now.
Even had Vergil stayed exactly how he begins, back turned and purposeful shunning, Mizu would have read until he fell asleep or she lost her voice. The book is long enough, she doubts she'd reach its end, and if so, there's always beginning again. There's no other plan besides the thought the poetry might soothe him, and should that not work, it at least gives him something else to focus on besides his own weakness. It need not do more. Mizu is well experienced when it comes to setting her expectations low, lest she be disappointed or angered. Vergil is sick, when he near never gets laid low. She cannot lay expectations higher when she herself frequently might fail them.
The poetry pulls Vergil in, and Mizu's pleased to see the effect it has—to see that she made the right call how she could support him in this state. Even in a sickly state, Vergil's voice reciting poetry bests hers reading it, and she's glad to have him join her. Something eases in her chest, and Mizu stays in touch with Vergil as she reads. Each brush of his hair or hand resting on his shoulder feels connected. No, she did not expect as much today, but it comforts her as well as him.
Only when his eyes remain closed for some time, such that it feels Mizu reads more to herself than to him, does she close the book and set it one side. She's ready then to sit there without moving lest she wake a sleeping Vergil for hours. The day, should he sleep so long. Mizu's sat in one position as long, and there are few positions that remain wholly comfortable. Training and practice means she's able. He need only drift off and trust Mizu watches over him, both for his well being and for his defense, should anything attack him in his weakened state.
Vergil doesn't. Stubborn as she, he remains awake a measure longer.
He brings up first that Keats among the poets whose books he has, a gift Nero thought of, and second that Mizu has no need of the book herself. Her first thought is incredulous; Mizu does not have Keats's poetry memorized like Vergil. She remembers only the few lines Vergil has said to her like his own. It's hardly enough to soothe Vergil into sleep, nor is that even the reason she checked out these books from the library. The mornings of reading in her bed next to each other, Mizu about London and Vergil his poetry, come to mind. She gave him hours and hours more, more than she would to his varying demands had she not found a way also to work when need be. Not that she always reads. Vergil excels at being a distraction, but with her books so nearby and some for him, that possibility remains there. A selfish reason, Mizu thinks, still in her own interest. Yet that's the logic she believed when first she checked them out. It's been a long time since then, and they've served far more purposes than that first one. From Vergil reading to her to Mizu looking up lines he says to her... at the end of the day, however, they're simply one more way she's brought Vergil into her cabin in Wintermute. A way to keep him there, as much as him keeping her. A way to have him when he's not there. A way to do something for him when he does so much for her. That last part is what he means she suspects.
"I've needed you," Mizu says softly. She lays down on the bed next to Vergil and pulls him close. He can lean his head against her or simply relax into her hold. Or do nothing at all. The point remains that she has him. He's reason enough to have the book, to have enough books that always some poetry books are downstairs and some upstairs. He cannot go more than twenty feet in her cabin without finding some poetry.
The book lays to the side, a library copy Mizu has checked out as many times as allowed. She only rotates the books when she needs to. Unlike Nero, she hasn't purchased the book. Perhaps she should if she always wants to have it. Vergil likes so much poetry that she always has some. It's so long become part of her life that Mizu cannot imagine living any other way. The norms to how her cabin had been before, what she needed to meet her needs and no more, are gone.
Vergil makes a little noise of protest as she lays down on the bed given that he's inevitably jostled by her efforts to lay down. He tells her to stop. At least, he thinks he does. Vergil isn't entirely sure if the word actually leaves his mouth and if it does, that it resembles the word at all. Either way, his displeasure at her moving about is made known. Not that it stops him from adjusting his position once she's laid down. With her lap gone, Vergil moves a little higher on her to use her stomach as the place to rest his head.
"You're a terrible pillow," he mumbles as he nuzzles her a bit, draping his arm over and holding onto her like he occasionally does a real pillow. The gesture likely undermines his criticism. As does how he curls closer to her with a little sniffle. He mumbles again, "Pillows don't move."
Once settled and through with chastising her for making him have to move and adjust, Vergil falls silent and still. It may seem as though he's surrendered to sleep finally after a few moments with just how silent he is and that his only movements are the rise and fall of his breath. He certainly comes close to it. Even without the blankets over him, he feels warm and comfortable. And he's more soothed by the feeling of her close to and partially beneath him than he thought possible. But he moves a little further up again, using her chest as his pillow instead so he can listen to her heartbeat and the draw and release of her breath as well.
"I'm sorry," he says quiet enough that if there were more than just the silence in his room, it would be easily missed as little more than a sleepy sigh. Vergil tightens his hold on her just a little more. "I haven't been sick since... Well, I was small enough not to really remember it. But that's not an excuse to act like a child.
"I was not telling the truth. I do not wish for you to go. I want you to stay. It is just that I am..." Vergil pauses a moment, thinking back to how he explained it to Nero days ago now. "I am accustomed to being alone. There has been no one else for a very long time."
Vergil knows Mizu already made the decision to disregard his earlier command to leave. Fortunately for him, the people who love and care about him the most are generally not dissuaded by his foul mood. (Nero makes no secret of how he feels about Vergil's bad attitude in contrast to Mizu simply overlooking it entirely, but the boy removes an immovable object nonetheless.) To whatever extent they can, they do understand it's not such a simple matter for Vergil to be like this and to allow them to care for him. He is far too fiercely independent, accustomed to nearly forty years of looking after himself for it to be an easy or smooth process of allowing anyone to take care of him. But even with all that understanding and persistence, he thinks it's better that he says it nonetheless.
At least that portion. He keeps his overall discomfort with the possibility of worrying her as his reason for not disclosing what was wrong to her sooner to himself for now. Particularly when it feels so utterly foolish in hindsight.
Quietly, he admits to her, "I would be fine managing this on my own, but... I'm glad...that I'm not alone anymore."
"I thought I'd lie here with you, rather than reading while you slept," Mizu comments, amused. She has a book on London. Once he falls asleep, she could read it and get something "productive" done during this time she looks after Vergil. However, her focus isn't there, and once he falls asleep, supposing he ever should, she would rather spend it focused on him or perhaps meditating and emptying her mind. None of it may work, her thoughts may turn to him over and over, but that too is okay. As little as Vergil may enjoy being ill, she's giving him the day.
Unexpectedly, Vergil apologizes for his behavior. A terrible patient herself, Ringo's had to redo her stitches repeatedly, Mizu isn't holding it against Vergil. Her own recoveries have usually been on her own, and her memories of her mother looking after her, after that foolish attempt to purchase information, are tainted by what follows. It does not feel like her mother looking after her, only after herself. Then again, the woman only ever took care of Mizu because she was paid. She wasn't Mizu's mother. Were their roles reversed, had Mizu been struck instead of Vergil, she doubts she'd be a more amicable patient. Probably. After today, that may no longer be the case.
"Most of the time I've been hurt," Mizu replies, as she's rarely been sick, "I was on my own. I know you could manage alone if you had to." She's done the same, and Vergil's no less skilled or stubborn as she is. Before she gained her healing ability, she painfully went about her business day-to-day recovering slowly after each of their sparring sessions. Mizu spent most of those first months in Folkmore injured, in some state of recovery. She managed it. She has no complaints. Certainly, Vergil looking after her immediately after they sparred already exceeded anything she expected of him. Yet, it's a reminder of what it's like to be on her own with no one to count on. The way her life will be when she returns home, says goodbye to swordfather (and Ringo, if he'll listen), and be on her way. Folkmore may be but a short interlude, but it's a pleasant one even when it isn't. It's this.
"If I'd truly believed you wanted me to leave, I would have left," Mizu says. She reaches up to brush a hand through his hair. As sweaty as it is, she'd think they just finished sparring—with Vergil somehow the one worse for wear. She looks down at him, however little she can with her head on a proper pillow (that does not move). If he needed her help to survive, she'd stay regardless, whether he thought worse of her for it or not. There's worse reasons to be hated.
"No matter how terrible or boring it is to look after you, I... am glad to be a part of helping you," Mizu says, "I am exactly where I want to be today. Tomorrow. I'm willing to share with Nero, but I want to be here, the whole whiny time." The last she says teasingly, but she understands if he continues to whine. To be brought low without even a fighting chance, it's infuriating. Besides the fact she could not drive Nero away nor wishes to prevent what father-son bonding sickness provides, Mizu can use the time away from Vergil to try to see him cured. He does not need to know she plays along with the fox spirit's games on his behalf. She simply needs to see him better.
Frowning a little with his eyes closed where she cannot see, he says, "I do not whine."
Just as he does not nap.
It is also far from the point that she is making, but Vergil lacks the words to respond to it. Some of that is due to his fatigue and the drowsiness that's taken root. Some of that is because it remains such a novelty that someone would want to stay and look after him. He does not know how to explain it any further than he already has how much it means to him, and it feels easier to simply sink into that warm feeling right now than trying to find the words for it. A little indulgence while he does not feel his best... Vergil sighs softly, nuzzling a little at the hand running through his hair.
"I like when you do that," he says. It's only a confession insomuch that Vergil has never said it aloud that he likes when Mizu runs her fingers through his hair. But it's unlikely to come as any great surprise to Mizu that he likes it considering he's never once issued a complaint over it or gone to any lengths to discourage it. "But I am going to fall asleep if you keep it up."
"And I don't bleed," Mizu mutters. It's mostly to herself, soft amusement at his insistence. Swordfather may not have patience for griping, but Mizu will let Vergil do what he wants, so long as it helps him recover.
It's a strange feeling to take care of someone. She worked as swordfather's apprentice and did many of the chores and errands, but it wasn't taking care of him so much as living with him. Old as he is and blind, he doesn't need to be taken care of. He could do everything she did, evinced by the fact he returned to it after she left. If anything, he took on more duties raising and teaching her to make swords than he did by himself. Her mother wanted Mizu to take care of her, but that meant supporting her by getting married and performing all the duties as a wife. She also expected money for her 'medicine.' None of that required actually taking care of her, not the way Mizu's looking after Vergil today.
It the first time she's looked after anyone (may the spirits look after swordfather and keep him healthy).
She smiles at Vergil and continues to brush her fingers through his hair. It's a simple gesture that makes her feel close to him, as much as her arm around him holding him. "So fall asleep. I'll be here when you wake up."
Even if she may not fall asleep. Someone has to be ready, should they be attacked.
Vergil sniffles a little as he listens to the steady thrum of Mizu's heart beneath his ear. It fades in and out of his conscious awareness just as her fingers running through his hair do as well. Sleep is beckoning him more and more, and his resistance to it is certainly beginning to wane. Not that he's particularly eager for sleep. He's tired of being so fatigued and prone to drifting off, and he wants time with her after days without seeing her. But he feels safe and warm enough in her embrace that it's only a distant thought that he's meant to protect her, and that he ought to remain awake until she falls asleep. Vergil's fingers curl slightly into the fabric of her clothes, trying still to so stubbornly stay awake even as he cannot keep his eyes open any longer. Never mind that holding onto her has the opposite effect on his ability to stay awake.
"You were there last time. You stayed for me..." he says, not providing any other detail or explanation as to what he means. It's not likely clear whether or not he anticipates she already knows he means Amrita, not even to him with how drowsy he is right now. But Mizu had sat nearby to him patiently while he slept and slept and slept upon his rescue. He had been exhausted then rather than sick, but it was still much the same. He needed the sleep, and Mizu was there to oversee his rest. Not that Vergil had thought much of it then or had any expectations that she would sit with him that diligently. Mizu certainly didn't owe it to him and could have gone about her day, and he would have been just fine on his own. But she hadn't abandoned him for longer than was strictly necessary, and Vergil slept deeply and peacefully after days of nonstop vigilance. Vergil draws a few deep breaths before mumbling something almost absentmindedly. Most of the words are lost, but there is one part of what he says that would be more difficult to miss as he asks, "Promise you'll stay...? For me...?"
Mizu continues to stroke Vergil's hair, and as he doesn't speak for some time, she doesn't expect they will talk more before he wakes up. In fact, Mizu's mostly convinced he's asleep and lying still for it, her hand moving slowly through the sweaty strands of hair, that she's surprised when he talks. It is too soon for him to talk in his sleep, so he clings to wakefulness ever longer. Stubborn man.
It takes a few moments to gather what Vergil means by last time because he's never been sick in all the time she's known him. However, he slept in Amrita Academy, the longest she's ever known him to sleep (though not stay in bed), and Mizu sat next to him the whole time, save to get food so he could eat once he'd rested. The decision took no thought. Vergil had looked out for himself and stayed awake a whole week. Naturally, he would sleep better if Mizu watched over him and he didn't have to look over his shoulder (Mizu hadn't trusted the fox spirit to leave the place alone, no matter what she said). While Mizu had a "job" to help forge tools for the place, she cared far more about Vergil's well being than anyone else's in the camp (Rin wasn't there, and even Rin could manage without a day of Mizu's labor). Truly, she gave up nothing to sit and watch over him.
This time Mizu gives up a day of effort, a day of researching her fathers and caring for Kai. It's a small measure but something more important. She's here. She'll be here. As she said.
Mizu frowns at the ceiling above her when Vergil asks for a promise. They're so rare, and this one—
It makes little immediate sense. Mizu just said she'll be there when he wakes up, and it's not like Vergil to doubt her word, to require a promise where her word is given. Could he mean the rest of the time he's sick? Mizu expects to split that work with Nero, not wanting to step between father and son, but if Vergil wants her here the entire time— It's an unknown time but should not be greater than a month, based on previous trials. Mizu... could... give him a whole month? If he needs it? It's a notable amount of time but no greater, in all likelihood, than forgoing the information on the train. Only more certain and readily measured.
Unless that's not what he means at all. Unless he means to stay. For him. To stay in Folkmore instead of returning home. It's something they spoke of never asking each other, and when fully awake, Mizu's sure Vergil never would ask her to stay, no matter his feelings on the matter. It's possible, in this sick and sleepy state, that his desire slips out unbidden. Her heart aches, and Mizu closes her eyes as she clutches Vergil to her. She's never wanted to stay somewhere with someone so badly. She can imagine a future for them, if only they were somewhere else. If only they were of the same world. It's why the false image on the train hurt so badly. It was the kind of place they could have decades together, if only it were real. If only it were possible.
Folkmore may last a while, some years, yet either of them may be ripped away at any time should the fox spirit not find them entertaining. It's a place to stand for a moment, not a lifetime. They will have to go, even Vergil and his family that he's found again in this place. They will part, and if Mizu is not ready to deal with her fathers, it will kill her. They will kill her. Exactly what he doesn't want. They can want more than one thing, but they cannot have them all. Life is far too cruel for that. Mizu cannot stay indefinitely. Mizu cannot give Vergil what he may well be asking for.
She brushes his hair and listens closely to his breathing, the only relief in the moment being the steady rhythms of sleep. His chest rises and falls, and Mizu's rises and falls, his head a heavy weight over her heart. "I want to stay," Mizu whispers, "I wish I could."
Tears threaten to fall, but Mizu squeezes her eyes tighter. When they no longer well up, she focuses on her breathing and tries to empty her mind. She tries, and she fails, over and over and over. No matter if it takes a thousand times, Mizu tries again.
It's a dreamless sleep that Vergil falls into once he's out. Not something he's particularly grateful for until he's awake again. And able to appreciate it properly, of course. Hours later when he finds himself awake again, Vergil is not immediately oriented to much of anything. His awakening for Mizu is likely signaled by the sudden shift in his breathing from those long, slow breaths into a sharp inhale. Much like the proverbial cat that a much shorter nap is named after, he stretches where he lay before bonelessly resting against Mizu again. It's enough he knows he's still in his room, and he's still with her.
"What time is it?" he mumbles on his exhale. Not that time holds any particular meaning to him right now. Vergil has nowhere else to be and certainly isn't permitted to leave this bed for very long anyways even if he did. But he would like to know just how long he has been out. Even if he's able to rationalize to himself that it's a good thing, a sign that he feels safe and protected, he's not a particular fan of how much and how often he's been sleeping these past few days. Naps are not about to become a habit past this illness. Slowly, he reaches a hand up to rub the heel of it against one of his eyes in an attempt to get them open again. He blinks blearily at his room from his current vantage point of resting his head upon Mizu's chest still.
A meditative state eventually comes to her, and once Mizu centers herself, she's able to do more than breath (and cry). Though it feels a little like cheating on her promise of being here for Vergil, she mentally sorts the information she knows about London to identify the areas she most wants to learn about. Her fathers Routley and Skeffington do not factor into them because she knows better than to expect to find that information. The fox spirit is not done with her yet, and that information would be too direct a route to send her home. An unexpected feeling of gratitude washes over her because that also means she has more time with Vergil. She hasn't stopped looking for information about them or wanting it, yet besides the train, she's never found a single lead attached to their names. It's bad to interest a fox spirit too much, asking for trouble, but Mizu feels Vergil's weight resting against her and it feels right.
Vergil wakes but stays close, still sick and tired, and Mizu brushes back a little of his hair with a smile. A sick person should not look so heartwarming. "It's mid-afternoon," Mizu says, "Welcome back to the land of the living."
So much time doing nearly nothing, and Mizu is satisfied with all of it. She understands why Vergil watches her sleep, should it feel anything like it does to watch him sleep. Better, perhaps, because she isn't ill. He may be hungry, and Mizu will offer him food in time. For the moment, she doesn't want to give him up or leave his side for the time it takes to fetch and prepare it.
"If Keats's lover had been the sick one instead of him, perhaps there would be poetry in this book to describe how you looked while sleeping." Anything she can think of sounds insulting.
Vergil grunts his acknowledgment of her greeting as he briefly rubs sleep from his other eye as well when he realizes he's in need of it. His hand slips from his face back to her side, allowing him to hold her once more. He turns his head, resting his other cheek against her chest so that he can look at her better albeit still not properly. He huffs in quiet amusement about her supposition that Keats could somehow make someone ill sound better than it truly is.
"I fear not even Keats—nor any of my other poets for that matter—would be able to mask how terrible I must look," he says before propping himself up on an elbow. He uses the brief leverage to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "But I appreciate the sentiment all the same."
Vergil lays down once more, this time slipping one of his legs between hers near to their ankles. A familiar move in an otherwise somewhat unfamiliar situation. In the mornings they share a bed with one another, Vergil has a tendency to seek out these little points of contact, using them as excuses to remain as they are rather than rising from bed to begin the day. Vergil lets his eyes fall shut again, but without any intention of slipping off back to sleep again. He's had enough of that for now. He would just like to be close to her still and give himself the opportunity to rest his eyes. (Another frustrating aspect of this illness has been how often and frequently his eyes seem to fatigue and are prone to straining relative to normal.) He does still sigh ever so slightly.
"I'm sorry I fell asleep for so long. While my fussy nursemaid has been so strict, I've grown to miss you, and I had no desire for today to be spent parted from you in slumber." Vergil knows Mizu does not need such an apology. As such, to some extent, he isn't really apologizing. It's more an expression of his greed for her company than anything else, and he highlights that somewhat by engaging in a bit more playful banter with her. "Ruder yet, I fell asleep while we were talking and as a consequence, I've no recollection what we were discussing. I only vaguely remember you had concluded reading. If you wish to claim I agreed to something I normally otherwise would not, I shall believe you wholeheartedly and keep my purported word at a later date as a mean of righting such a transgression."
He doesn't anticipate Mizu will sincerely take him up on that, but if she does, she had best prepare for him to sincerely follow through on it later even if he'd meant everything in jest.
"You are not so beyond saving," Mizu murmurs. Her description, if she gives one, would probably wind up insulting him worse than he actually looks. It's one reason she doesn't bother trying. Poetry is beyond her, something unnecessary for revenge and so like her cooking. If it needs doing, it can be done, but it takes a strong stomach to keep it down. It's a miracle Mizu's communicated that Vergil grounds her when she needs it, given the way she tries to put it to words. The words aren't there for how Vergil looks, but sick and all, Mizu sees him shining through. That is deserving of poetry like Keats's.
She restrains herself from stroking her fingers through her hair. Neither of them wish him to be asleep any longer, so Mizu contents herself with rubbing his back and resting her other hand on his arm. She even slides one foot against his leg so that they have many points of contact. Her glasses are on the table beside the bed, not shielding the blue of her eyes in the privacy of his bedroom. The place feels more alive and occupied with him awake. Less like she's stolen into the space, if as a pillow.
A small frown at his comment about falling asleep. His words are light but only because Vergil doesn't know what he said. No promises made but one asked for. One that pulls at her all the more because he doesn't remember it. He wants her to stay in Folkmore, Mizu's sure of it. He wouldn't dream of saying as much, given the strain it would place on her. The sickness loosened his tongue, and Mizu will not hold that against him. She does not want him to hold it against himself. So she only sighs and shakes her head.
"No promises," Mizu says. In that moment, nothing else comes to mind except what was said. She couldn't make something up for the life of her. Oh, right. "I didn't get the chance to tell you I made rice, so you're under no obligation to eat it. I could cook vegetables or soup for it, but I didn't want to make you sick longer."
Does Nero cook? Mizu would gladly chop vegetables for him the way she does Vergil.
Vergil huffs again in light amusement, avoiding a fuller laugh to hopefully not spurn on a coughing fit, especially when he is so close to her. Even if he's not actually contagious with this illness, he'd rather not all the same.
"With as congested as I feel, I'm not certain I would be able to properly taste whatever poor blend of seasonings you used until it drained my sinuses enough," he says. Which is not really meant to be a misplaced compliment to her cooking so much as commentary upon the strength of his general symptoms. The first handful of bites of the soup Kyrie has been making for him and Dante usually tastes very bland, and are a bit difficult at times to get through. All Vergil has with those few bites is the way the broth soothes his throat. It's only once he pushes through that that he's been able to really savor just how good it really is. "Your rice would be lovely, but you may be better off reheating leftovers from Kyrie's soup if the intention to to avoid my nausea returning than trying to make anything yourself."
He pauses a moment before adding, "You should help yourself to some as well if you're hungry. I doubt she will mind considering how much there likely is still leftover from the last batch. I'm actually not entirely convinced the girl did not spend some Lore to create a pot of endless soup considering Dante appears to have not eaten his way through it."
Then again, Dante may very well be protesting the diet of soup and making demands for some kind of pizza. His loss and Mizu's gain if that is the case.
"My seasonings would clear out your sinuses quickly," Mizu says, poking fun at herself. Yet it's true. It never feels like enough until somehow it's too much. That or she avoids them altogether and it's horrifically bland. Neither is a good option, though both will keep a person alive. They simply may not enjoy the experience the way they would eating Ringo's noodles. If that were all Vergil needed to get better—regular clearing of his sinuses until everything was drained away, she'd get him to eat as many servings of her cooking as it took. Fortunately for him, it's not the cure.
She instead frowns a little at the name. Kyrie, it's familiar, one she's heard before. Except Mizu doesn't bother to remember names unless they're relevant to her in some way, so she has trouble piecing it together. Female, cooks, and connected to the Spardas. She doesn't think Kyrie's connected directly to Vergil (Mizu would remember her then), but neither does Dante seem to have many close acquaintances. Nero, maybe? Especially if Vergil's calling her a girl, she must be young.
"That would be a good use of Lore," Mizu ponders, "A large expenditure up front, but in time, you'd well recover it back. So long as you can stand eating the same thing day after day." Mizu can, and if Vergil did not seem to enjoy making her food and bringing it over, she'd well consider it. She's had more of her own cooking in the last few days as his leftovers ran out and none replaced them. It hasn't been good eating, but it's been eating. Enough, anyway.
Her stomach betrays her with a growl. She hasn't eaten since this morning. Despite doing little during the day (laying her and meditating while Vergil slept, mostly), she's hungry again. Vergil's invitation is all she needs to accept the offer of free soup. Mizu strokes his hair a couple times. "As soon as my leech releases me, I'll fetch us both some soup over rice."
Vergil huffs strong enough in his amusement at being accused of being a leech that he must turn his face from her to cough a little. It's not a prolonged fit, and one he recovers from quickly.
"You flatter me," he says. And also really is not making that strong of a case that he should move and allow her to leave the bed for the soup in the first place if she's going to stroke at his hair again. Granted, it's not having quite the sedative effect it had a moment ago, but it is still hardly discouragement for remaining close to her and continuing to use her as his pillow. Even if her stomach does growl at the prospect of a more filling, proper, and likely far tastier meal. Vergil chooses not to draw attention to it by asking her questions he can likely guess the answers to when it comes to her diet. Kai has all she could possibly need or want by now most likely, but that does not make Mizu particularly attentive to her own needs as far as that is concerned. She is not starving, and she is content enough with that regardless of how much she enjoys Vergil's cooking. "Terrible enough that it is I am unwell, but you had to compare me to a leech? You could not at least compare me to a limpet? Or perhaps a remora? At least provide me with the illusion of some capability of independence right now, and that my son is not essentially using you as one might a babysitter..."
Rather than a leech, Vergil prefers to be some kind of clam or... as best Mizu understands it a species of catfish. Clams walk, and catfish swim, it is true, but she sees no more compelling in either compared to a leech. Instead she has new ways to mildly insult him when he's sick or particularly clingy well into mid-morning. Mizu smiles with a shake of her head.
"A babysitter has natural authority, as any adult over a child," Mizu says, "they would have an easier job than I with you. Not that Nero uses me for anything. I was concerned upon not seeing you for so long, and once I knew, he stood no chance to keep me away—seeing how fighting a human is beneath his honor."
She stops stroking his hair, instead resting her hand where it lays on his head. As with their mornings, he seems determined to keep her with him. No matter it would be only five or ten minutes to prepare and return with food. When he wants her to stay longer with him in bed, he finds a way. No matter that Mizu could choose to leave, any morning or now, because he'd never truly stop her. It's her own affinity for him that holds her.
"My leech, my clam, my catfish, you are too stubborn to lack all your independence. Even if your appetite is gone, you should eat. I'll even permit you to hold the bowl and spoon it into your mouth yourself. Such a wondrous display of masculinity and independence as has never been seen." She's laughing, unable to keep a straight face through all of it.
It's difficult not to find her laughter infectious even as poking fun at him is entirely the reason she laughs in the first place and it's perhaps ill-advised for him to laugh too much. He's at least able to chuckle a little without agitating his cough or shortness of breath, low and quiet.
"Quiet, you," he warns playfully before "silencing" her with a kiss. At this rate, he thinks, Nero and Mizu could probably take this act on the road in poking fun at him while he's ill as neither of them have hesitated on the matter. But he keeps such a thought to himself. No doubt they will exchange notes on their own in due time if Mizu intends on stopping by with any regular frequency while Vergil is unable to go to her. He needn't expedite the two of them conspiring against him so quickly.
The kiss is brief if for no other reason than Mizu's bubbles of laughter and giggles defeating its primary purpose easily. Vergil does not mind. It is so good to hear her laughter that even sick as he is, poor as his mood has been, even he cannot resist the flutter in his chest. Without settling back down, he says, "I cannot help but feel I am permitted a bit of latitude in my unwillingness to have you leave my side. It has been a miserable, lonely past few days.
"But fine. If I must release you then I shall. But you are not to tarry and return to me quickly. I am not overeager to begin missing your presence again so soon."
And with that, true to his word, Vergil does shuffle over into his own space again, granting Mizu the freedom of movement once more.
Her laughter cannot be silenced, and Mizu barely kisses Vergil back. If anything, Vergil sliding up to kiss her makes it harder for her to leave the bed. More of him lays against her, and the temptation to hold him tight against her chest is there. She's never been able to make anyone better. She can sew up and bind a wound, but she's only ever done so on herself. The rest? Anything to help someone else's help? Leaving a sword after knocking a man out doesn't count. Mostly.
Quieting, Mizu listens to the sadness behind Vergil's words. This imposition on his ability to do anything, the physical discomfort, all for no good reason, not the consequences of a fight of his own choosing, it's infuriating. She hates hearing a new source of pain to his existence, even if it's the sort most people live with regularly in their lives. It isn't natural, and they both know that.
She pulls back her arm as he moves away from her, and Mizu doesn't touch him as she leaves the bed. Experience informs her it's a good way not to leave the bed. "I'll move with the haste of a noodle restaurant chef," Mizu assures him, thinking of Ringo, "though I'll take care not to spill the food before it arrives."
Bittersweet smile on her lips, Mizu moves with all the health and vigor one could expect of a fully healthy person. Given her healing ability, the only marks on her body are mostly faded bruises Vergil gave her. Nothing that impedes her from fetching rice and soup. In the kitchen, she heats the soup on the stove, as well as warming her rice in another pot. While it heats, she also heats water for tea. It takes little time, as they only need warmth. Mizu serves rice into two bowls, pauses and eyes the other side of the house, and pulls out a third bowl. More rice, then soup.
She takes the first bowl to the closed door to Dante's room and sets it down. She knocks, announces "Soup," and leaves. Carefully, she nestles both bowls, with chopsticks, between an arm and her body to carry them back to Vergil's bedroom. She opens the door with eyes more on the soup than Vergil and walks into the room. One is set on the nightstand, not on any books, and she hands one to Vergil and leaves again.
Mizu returns with the teapot and two cups. It wouldn't be right without tea. She closes the door and sits down. "I am back as quickly as promised," Mizu says, "Now you can get something warm in you."
She kisses Vergil once. "The soup smells amazing, though no soup will ever taste as good as the terrible bowl swordfather served me the night we met. The fact I was eating garbage for a good while before that probably helps."
While Mizu prepares the soup, Vergil lies there, hand on the warm spot where she was laying just a moment ago for a little while longer. He's sitting by the time she returns with the soup bowls. Although he accepts the bowl she offers him, he frowns a little in confusion when she leaves the bedroom again. He glances at the bowl on the nightstand as a sign she intends to be right back, but he cannot imagine what for until she appears in the doorway again with tea. He smiles a little as she settles back onto the bed and returns the kiss.
"Maybe so," he says, adjusting his hold on his chopsticks so he can begin to eat. "But that's a comment best kept between us. I don't believe Kyrie would take any offense to it even without knowing the full story, but Nero is..." Vergil pauses a moment to think of the best word to describe his son's tendency to leap to Kyrie's defense at the vaguest sense of attack or offense. He pushes a few vegetables around aimlessly. "Nero is quite protective of the girl. Needless to say, he goes above and beyond.
"Not that I can particularly fault him for it. Kyrie has been a constant in his life since he was a small child, and as I understand it, she was always willing to stand up for him even when no one else would."
And Vergil knows he doesn't need to explain to Mizu why that would make her so important to Nero. Or that it's still something that Kyrie is willing to do to this day given the conversation Vergil came home to on Kyrie's second day in Folkmore almost a month ago.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
"That is when I am not confined to bed for days at a time," he says, bristling a little at the teasing. That is most certainly a consequence of his mood to have such defensiveness emerge. "These four walls is all I have known for days. I am only permitted to read or sleep without someone hovering over me as though I were an incompetent child. And even then, I rarely am afforded that much."
Vergil pauses, but not because he feels the need to be more thoughtful with his words as so often his pauses are meant to serve. It is a shortness of breath that strikes instead. In not wanting the impending thinness of his voice to undermine his argument that he is well enough to walk outside, he pauses. Subtly as he can, he catches his breath and smothers a cough by reaching for and taking a drink from his nearby glass of water.
With a little sniffle as he lowers the glass back down, he continues, "It's not that I am ungrateful for your company, but this is not how I wish to spend time with you. Not now. You would feel the same were our positions reversed."
no subject
"Could I use the Yamato to slice through reality and carry you a handful of steps to my bed, I would consider it," Mizu says, "That not being the case, the bed must be your own."
The other consideration being that Mizu suspects Nero may still drop in on them, even with Mizu watching. At least, the fact he can drop in likely eases his mind, even if he needs a break from caring for two sick people at once. She knows Dante is similarly bedridden, and unlike Vergil, Mizu has little interest in watching over him. Nero hasn't been to her cabin in Wintermute, and as with nearly every single person in Folkmore, Mizu prefers it that way.
Her attention focuses on Vergil, and though he may mask as much of the problems as he can, what remains obvious and visible to Mizu is enough. He needs the rest, and much as she bristled at his requirement she recover, fully, between sparring matches, she did so. He made her do so. It's not the same as being sick, she knows, but the restriction is familiar enough.
"You are sick, and you need rest. How either of us wishes to spend time together must be set aside. Letting you do as you will now would only require I carry your exhausted form back the thirty steps inside you made it out, and you'd be the worse for it," Mizu says. "I promise you may have a whole day of my company, to spend time with as better pleases you, once you are well enough to enjoy it."
no subject
Setting aside his glass, he folds his arms. And just like that, he sinks a little lower until he's in a pronounced slouch. If his bottom lip were out, he'd be in a full pout like this. He retains just enough of his dignity and maturity not to do that, but Vergil still rolls his eyes at the promise of another day spent doing as he pleases with her. They both know that by the time he is healthy enough, he will have no desire to place any demand upon her as far as what they do together is concerned. He will have returned to his normal routines by then, and have the full breadth of his daily life by then that there will be no great urge as there is now. He glares over towards a corner of his bed hard enough that it's a small wonder that it does not spontaneously catch on fire.
"Rest does nothing for this," he spits back without looking at her. "I am the same as I was the day before and shall be the same tomorrow regardless of what I do beyond being in an even more foul mood than I find myself now. Assuming, of course, that I do not begin losing my mind from being held prisoner in my own bedroom and begin paranoid ramblings about the walls themselves."
Vergil talks enough that his breathing grows harsher and he has to take a moment to catch his breath. It's just enough that his frustration spikes his temper. He's not one to speak at length unless he feels the need to outweighs his natural inclination for silence and quiet, and yet he cannot speak as much as he would like to now because of these damned symptoms. Vergil shakes his head and roughly scoots himself the rest of the way down, rolling over and turning away from Mizu. He does not bother with slipping under his covers, stubbornly refusing to be in bed properly as a petty act of defiance against the restrictions placed upon him.
"You've wasted your time in coming here today. I'm not in the mood for company, not even yours. Go home, Mizu."
no subject
He does not need to know that the lure of curing someone she cares about works. Mizu regularly goes to the dojo in Wintermute to travel in the strange boats and fight the corrupted corpses inside of people. Fight. Cage. Abandon. Repeat. None of it has helped Vergil thus far, and that is likely purposeful on the fox spirit's part, but Mizu only hopes that enough people partake that someone will cure Vergil. Until then... this.
Vergil turns his back on her, rejects her company, and tells Mizu to leave. In other circumstances, it'd be everything she fears in a relationship, what she'd expect to have happen. However, even in his frustration, Vergil's words limit the strength of his words. She wasted her time today. He doesn't want her company today. He wants her to leave for the day, for the time he's sick. As petty and childish as he's acting, there's little sting to it.
Mizu stays because she's far too stubborn to be put off by that. If he were in full health and did not wish her company, she'd respect it, but here, for all he says, he needs watching. He'll be no more free of it if she leaves. Only it'd be Nero. Mizu sits on the bed and leans against the wall. She pulls one of a few books from her bag. She opens it and clears her throat. "I thought you might like someone else's company."
Keats to be exact. A man who was ill and wasn't going to get better. Someone whose words can express feelings around pain and illness better than Mizu ever can. She's not as good as Vergil at reading poetry aloud, but Mizu tries her best.
no subject
But as it is, neither comes to pass.
Vergil is still foolish enough to believe he could steel himself well enough to avoid and ignore her, and he makes an effort to do so. But every one of those efforts is spent in vain. She reads words of poetry to him, and Vergil cannot resist the urge to listen. To eventually recite little portions of the verse to her before she has a chance to read it from the book before allowing her to continue. It's not exactly a call and response, but neither is it a correction. It is them. Together. He goes from his back to her, to facing her on his side. Not long after has Vergil slipped into her lap. From where he is and can see, he reads alongside her silently until his eyes feel too tired to continue. He lets his eyes fall shut, and he begins to drift then. In and out. Sometimes its her voice. Sometimes it's an idle touch from her like fingers in his hair. But she falls in and out of focus as sleep tugs at him.
Vergil does not ultimately acquiesce to it by the time the book is closed even if he does not open his eyes.
"You did not need to bring that with you," he says, unable to mask just how close he is to sleep with the edge of his temper earlier dulled completely. "His works are in the anthology Nero gave me for Christmas."
With great effort, Vergil rolls over. He looks up at Mizu briefly, for as long as he can open his bleary eyes before they fall shut and he settles back down just a little further. Much as his words may sound it, he's not dismissing the gesture.
"You've never needed that book at all though, have you?"
She brought it here for the same reason she has it in the first place. It's for him. Something Vergil has never really acknowledged before now.
no subject
The poetry pulls Vergil in, and Mizu's pleased to see the effect it has—to see that she made the right call how she could support him in this state. Even in a sickly state, Vergil's voice reciting poetry bests hers reading it, and she's glad to have him join her. Something eases in her chest, and Mizu stays in touch with Vergil as she reads. Each brush of his hair or hand resting on his shoulder feels connected. No, she did not expect as much today, but it comforts her as well as him.
Only when his eyes remain closed for some time, such that it feels Mizu reads more to herself than to him, does she close the book and set it one side. She's ready then to sit there without moving lest she wake a sleeping Vergil for hours. The day, should he sleep so long. Mizu's sat in one position as long, and there are few positions that remain wholly comfortable. Training and practice means she's able. He need only drift off and trust Mizu watches over him, both for his well being and for his defense, should anything attack him in his weakened state.
Vergil doesn't. Stubborn as she, he remains awake a measure longer.
He brings up first that Keats among the poets whose books he has, a gift Nero thought of, and second that Mizu has no need of the book herself. Her first thought is incredulous; Mizu does not have Keats's poetry memorized like Vergil. She remembers only the few lines Vergil has said to her like his own. It's hardly enough to soothe Vergil into sleep, nor is that even the reason she checked out these books from the library. The mornings of reading in her bed next to each other, Mizu about London and Vergil his poetry, come to mind. She gave him hours and hours more, more than she would to his varying demands had she not found a way also to work when need be. Not that she always reads. Vergil excels at being a distraction, but with her books so nearby and some for him, that possibility remains there. A selfish reason, Mizu thinks, still in her own interest. Yet that's the logic she believed when first she checked them out. It's been a long time since then, and they've served far more purposes than that first one. From Vergil reading to her to Mizu looking up lines he says to her... at the end of the day, however, they're simply one more way she's brought Vergil into her cabin in Wintermute. A way to keep him there, as much as him keeping her. A way to have him when he's not there. A way to do something for him when he does so much for her. That last part is what he means she suspects.
"I've needed you," Mizu says softly. She lays down on the bed next to Vergil and pulls him close. He can lean his head against her or simply relax into her hold. Or do nothing at all. The point remains that she has him. He's reason enough to have the book, to have enough books that always some poetry books are downstairs and some upstairs. He cannot go more than twenty feet in her cabin without finding some poetry.
The book lays to the side, a library copy Mizu has checked out as many times as allowed. She only rotates the books when she needs to. Unlike Nero, she hasn't purchased the book. Perhaps she should if she always wants to have it. Vergil likes so much poetry that she always has some. It's so long become part of her life that Mizu cannot imagine living any other way. The norms to how her cabin had been before, what she needed to meet her needs and no more, are gone.
no subject
"You're a terrible pillow," he mumbles as he nuzzles her a bit, draping his arm over and holding onto her like he occasionally does a real pillow. The gesture likely undermines his criticism. As does how he curls closer to her with a little sniffle. He mumbles again, "Pillows don't move."
Once settled and through with chastising her for making him have to move and adjust, Vergil falls silent and still. It may seem as though he's surrendered to sleep finally after a few moments with just how silent he is and that his only movements are the rise and fall of his breath. He certainly comes close to it. Even without the blankets over him, he feels warm and comfortable. And he's more soothed by the feeling of her close to and partially beneath him than he thought possible. But he moves a little further up again, using her chest as his pillow instead so he can listen to her heartbeat and the draw and release of her breath as well.
"I'm sorry," he says quiet enough that if there were more than just the silence in his room, it would be easily missed as little more than a sleepy sigh. Vergil tightens his hold on her just a little more. "I haven't been sick since... Well, I was small enough not to really remember it. But that's not an excuse to act like a child.
"I was not telling the truth. I do not wish for you to go. I want you to stay. It is just that I am..." Vergil pauses a moment, thinking back to how he explained it to Nero days ago now. "I am accustomed to being alone. There has been no one else for a very long time."
Vergil knows Mizu already made the decision to disregard his earlier command to leave. Fortunately for him, the people who love and care about him the most are generally not dissuaded by his foul mood. (Nero makes no secret of how he feels about Vergil's bad attitude in contrast to Mizu simply overlooking it entirely, but the boy removes an immovable object nonetheless.) To whatever extent they can, they do understand it's not such a simple matter for Vergil to be like this and to allow them to care for him. He is far too fiercely independent, accustomed to nearly forty years of looking after himself for it to be an easy or smooth process of allowing anyone to take care of him. But even with all that understanding and persistence, he thinks it's better that he says it nonetheless.
At least that portion. He keeps his overall discomfort with the possibility of worrying her as his reason for not disclosing what was wrong to her sooner to himself for now. Particularly when it feels so utterly foolish in hindsight.
Quietly, he admits to her, "I would be fine managing this on my own, but... I'm glad...that I'm not alone anymore."
Even if he is horrendous at showing it sometimes.
no subject
Unexpectedly, Vergil apologizes for his behavior. A terrible patient herself, Ringo's had to redo her stitches repeatedly, Mizu isn't holding it against Vergil. Her own recoveries have usually been on her own, and her memories of her mother looking after her, after that foolish attempt to purchase information, are tainted by what follows. It does not feel like her mother looking after her, only after herself. Then again, the woman only ever took care of Mizu because she was paid. She wasn't Mizu's mother. Were their roles reversed, had Mizu been struck instead of Vergil, she doubts she'd be a more amicable patient. Probably. After today, that may no longer be the case.
"Most of the time I've been hurt," Mizu replies, as she's rarely been sick, "I was on my own. I know you could manage alone if you had to." She's done the same, and Vergil's no less skilled or stubborn as she is. Before she gained her healing ability, she painfully went about her business day-to-day recovering slowly after each of their sparring sessions. Mizu spent most of those first months in Folkmore injured, in some state of recovery. She managed it. She has no complaints. Certainly, Vergil looking after her immediately after they sparred already exceeded anything she expected of him. Yet, it's a reminder of what it's like to be on her own with no one to count on. The way her life will be when she returns home, says goodbye to swordfather (and Ringo, if he'll listen), and be on her way. Folkmore may be but a short interlude, but it's a pleasant one even when it isn't. It's this.
"If I'd truly believed you wanted me to leave, I would have left," Mizu says. She reaches up to brush a hand through his hair. As sweaty as it is, she'd think they just finished sparring—with Vergil somehow the one worse for wear. She looks down at him, however little she can with her head on a proper pillow (that does not move). If he needed her help to survive, she'd stay regardless, whether he thought worse of her for it or not. There's worse reasons to be hated.
"No matter how terrible or boring it is to look after you, I... am glad to be a part of helping you," Mizu says, "I am exactly where I want to be today. Tomorrow. I'm willing to share with Nero, but I want to be here, the whole whiny time." The last she says teasingly, but she understands if he continues to whine. To be brought low without even a fighting chance, it's infuriating. Besides the fact she could not drive Nero away nor wishes to prevent what father-son bonding sickness provides, Mizu can use the time away from Vergil to try to see him cured. He does not need to know she plays along with the fox spirit's games on his behalf. She simply needs to see him better.
no subject
Just as he does not nap.
It is also far from the point that she is making, but Vergil lacks the words to respond to it. Some of that is due to his fatigue and the drowsiness that's taken root. Some of that is because it remains such a novelty that someone would want to stay and look after him. He does not know how to explain it any further than he already has how much it means to him, and it feels easier to simply sink into that warm feeling right now than trying to find the words for it. A little indulgence while he does not feel his best... Vergil sighs softly, nuzzling a little at the hand running through his hair.
"I like when you do that," he says. It's only a confession insomuch that Vergil has never said it aloud that he likes when Mizu runs her fingers through his hair. But it's unlikely to come as any great surprise to Mizu that he likes it considering he's never once issued a complaint over it or gone to any lengths to discourage it. "But I am going to fall asleep if you keep it up."
no subject
It's a strange feeling to take care of someone. She worked as swordfather's apprentice and did many of the chores and errands, but it wasn't taking care of him so much as living with him. Old as he is and blind, he doesn't need to be taken care of. He could do everything she did, evinced by the fact he returned to it after she left. If anything, he took on more duties raising and teaching her to make swords than he did by himself. Her mother wanted Mizu to take care of her, but that meant supporting her by getting married and performing all the duties as a wife. She also expected money for her 'medicine.' None of that required actually taking care of her, not the way Mizu's looking after Vergil today.
It the first time she's looked after anyone (may the spirits look after swordfather and keep him healthy).
She smiles at Vergil and continues to brush her fingers through his hair. It's a simple gesture that makes her feel close to him, as much as her arm around him holding him. "So fall asleep. I'll be here when you wake up."
Even if she may not fall asleep. Someone has to be ready, should they be attacked.
no subject
"You were there last time. You stayed for me..." he says, not providing any other detail or explanation as to what he means. It's not likely clear whether or not he anticipates she already knows he means Amrita, not even to him with how drowsy he is right now. But Mizu had sat nearby to him patiently while he slept and slept and slept upon his rescue. He had been exhausted then rather than sick, but it was still much the same. He needed the sleep, and Mizu was there to oversee his rest. Not that Vergil had thought much of it then or had any expectations that she would sit with him that diligently. Mizu certainly didn't owe it to him and could have gone about her day, and he would have been just fine on his own. But she hadn't abandoned him for longer than was strictly necessary, and Vergil slept deeply and peacefully after days of nonstop vigilance. Vergil draws a few deep breaths before mumbling something almost absentmindedly. Most of the words are lost, but there is one part of what he says that would be more difficult to miss as he asks, "Promise you'll stay...? For me...?"
no subject
It takes a few moments to gather what Vergil means by last time because he's never been sick in all the time she's known him. However, he slept in Amrita Academy, the longest she's ever known him to sleep (though not stay in bed), and Mizu sat next to him the whole time, save to get food so he could eat once he'd rested. The decision took no thought. Vergil had looked out for himself and stayed awake a whole week. Naturally, he would sleep better if Mizu watched over him and he didn't have to look over his shoulder (Mizu hadn't trusted the fox spirit to leave the place alone, no matter what she said). While Mizu had a "job" to help forge tools for the place, she cared far more about Vergil's well being than anyone else's in the camp (Rin wasn't there, and even Rin could manage without a day of Mizu's labor). Truly, she gave up nothing to sit and watch over him.
This time Mizu gives up a day of effort, a day of researching her fathers and caring for Kai. It's a small measure but something more important. She's here. She'll be here. As she said.
Mizu frowns at the ceiling above her when Vergil asks for a promise. They're so rare, and this one—
It makes little immediate sense. Mizu just said she'll be there when he wakes up, and it's not like Vergil to doubt her word, to require a promise where her word is given. Could he mean the rest of the time he's sick? Mizu expects to split that work with Nero, not wanting to step between father and son, but if Vergil wants her here the entire time— It's an unknown time but should not be greater than a month, based on previous trials. Mizu... could... give him a whole month? If he needs it? It's a notable amount of time but no greater, in all likelihood, than forgoing the information on the train. Only more certain and readily measured.
Unless that's not what he means at all. Unless he means to stay. For him. To stay in Folkmore instead of returning home. It's something they spoke of never asking each other, and when fully awake, Mizu's sure Vergil never would ask her to stay, no matter his feelings on the matter. It's possible, in this sick and sleepy state, that his desire slips out unbidden. Her heart aches, and Mizu closes her eyes as she clutches Vergil to her. She's never wanted to stay somewhere with someone so badly. She can imagine a future for them, if only they were somewhere else. If only they were of the same world. It's why the false image on the train hurt so badly. It was the kind of place they could have decades together, if only it were real. If only it were possible.
Folkmore may last a while, some years, yet either of them may be ripped away at any time should the fox spirit not find them entertaining. It's a place to stand for a moment, not a lifetime. They will have to go, even Vergil and his family that he's found again in this place. They will part, and if Mizu is not ready to deal with her fathers, it will kill her. They will kill her. Exactly what he doesn't want. They can want more than one thing, but they cannot have them all. Life is far too cruel for that. Mizu cannot stay indefinitely. Mizu cannot give Vergil what he may well be asking for.
She brushes his hair and listens closely to his breathing, the only relief in the moment being the steady rhythms of sleep. His chest rises and falls, and Mizu's rises and falls, his head a heavy weight over her heart. "I want to stay," Mizu whispers, "I wish I could."
Tears threaten to fall, but Mizu squeezes her eyes tighter. When they no longer well up, she focuses on her breathing and tries to empty her mind. She tries, and she fails, over and over and over. No matter if it takes a thousand times, Mizu tries again.
no subject
"What time is it?" he mumbles on his exhale. Not that time holds any particular meaning to him right now. Vergil has nowhere else to be and certainly isn't permitted to leave this bed for very long anyways even if he did. But he would like to know just how long he has been out. Even if he's able to rationalize to himself that it's a good thing, a sign that he feels safe and protected, he's not a particular fan of how much and how often he's been sleeping these past few days. Naps are not about to become a habit past this illness. Slowly, he reaches a hand up to rub the heel of it against one of his eyes in an attempt to get them open again. He blinks blearily at his room from his current vantage point of resting his head upon Mizu's chest still.
no subject
Vergil wakes but stays close, still sick and tired, and Mizu brushes back a little of his hair with a smile. A sick person should not look so heartwarming. "It's mid-afternoon," Mizu says, "Welcome back to the land of the living."
So much time doing nearly nothing, and Mizu is satisfied with all of it. She understands why Vergil watches her sleep, should it feel anything like it does to watch him sleep. Better, perhaps, because she isn't ill. He may be hungry, and Mizu will offer him food in time. For the moment, she doesn't want to give him up or leave his side for the time it takes to fetch and prepare it.
"If Keats's lover had been the sick one instead of him, perhaps there would be poetry in this book to describe how you looked while sleeping." Anything she can think of sounds insulting.
no subject
"I fear not even Keats—nor any of my other poets for that matter—would be able to mask how terrible I must look," he says before propping himself up on an elbow. He uses the brief leverage to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "But I appreciate the sentiment all the same."
Vergil lays down once more, this time slipping one of his legs between hers near to their ankles. A familiar move in an otherwise somewhat unfamiliar situation. In the mornings they share a bed with one another, Vergil has a tendency to seek out these little points of contact, using them as excuses to remain as they are rather than rising from bed to begin the day. Vergil lets his eyes fall shut again, but without any intention of slipping off back to sleep again. He's had enough of that for now. He would just like to be close to her still and give himself the opportunity to rest his eyes. (Another frustrating aspect of this illness has been how often and frequently his eyes seem to fatigue and are prone to straining relative to normal.) He does still sigh ever so slightly.
"I'm sorry I fell asleep for so long. While my fussy nursemaid has been so strict, I've grown to miss you, and I had no desire for today to be spent parted from you in slumber." Vergil knows Mizu does not need such an apology. As such, to some extent, he isn't really apologizing. It's more an expression of his greed for her company than anything else, and he highlights that somewhat by engaging in a bit more playful banter with her. "Ruder yet, I fell asleep while we were talking and as a consequence, I've no recollection what we were discussing. I only vaguely remember you had concluded reading. If you wish to claim I agreed to something I normally otherwise would not, I shall believe you wholeheartedly and keep my purported word at a later date as a mean of righting such a transgression."
He doesn't anticipate Mizu will sincerely take him up on that, but if she does, she had best prepare for him to sincerely follow through on it later even if he'd meant everything in jest.
no subject
She restrains herself from stroking her fingers through her hair. Neither of them wish him to be asleep any longer, so Mizu contents herself with rubbing his back and resting her other hand on his arm. She even slides one foot against his leg so that they have many points of contact. Her glasses are on the table beside the bed, not shielding the blue of her eyes in the privacy of his bedroom. The place feels more alive and occupied with him awake. Less like she's stolen into the space, if as a pillow.
A small frown at his comment about falling asleep. His words are light but only because Vergil doesn't know what he said. No promises made but one asked for. One that pulls at her all the more because he doesn't remember it. He wants her to stay in Folkmore, Mizu's sure of it. He wouldn't dream of saying as much, given the strain it would place on her. The sickness loosened his tongue, and Mizu will not hold that against him. She does not want him to hold it against himself. So she only sighs and shakes her head.
"No promises," Mizu says. In that moment, nothing else comes to mind except what was said. She couldn't make something up for the life of her. Oh, right. "I didn't get the chance to tell you I made rice, so you're under no obligation to eat it. I could cook vegetables or soup for it, but I didn't want to make you sick longer."
Does Nero cook? Mizu would gladly chop vegetables for him the way she does Vergil.
no subject
"With as congested as I feel, I'm not certain I would be able to properly taste whatever poor blend of seasonings you used until it drained my sinuses enough," he says. Which is not really meant to be a misplaced compliment to her cooking so much as commentary upon the strength of his general symptoms. The first handful of bites of the soup Kyrie has been making for him and Dante usually tastes very bland, and are a bit difficult at times to get through. All Vergil has with those few bites is the way the broth soothes his throat. It's only once he pushes through that that he's been able to really savor just how good it really is. "Your rice would be lovely, but you may be better off reheating leftovers from Kyrie's soup if the intention to to avoid my nausea returning than trying to make anything yourself."
He pauses a moment before adding, "You should help yourself to some as well if you're hungry. I doubt she will mind considering how much there likely is still leftover from the last batch. I'm actually not entirely convinced the girl did not spend some Lore to create a pot of endless soup considering Dante appears to have not eaten his way through it."
Then again, Dante may very well be protesting the diet of soup and making demands for some kind of pizza. His loss and Mizu's gain if that is the case.
no subject
She instead frowns a little at the name. Kyrie, it's familiar, one she's heard before. Except Mizu doesn't bother to remember names unless they're relevant to her in some way, so she has trouble piecing it together. Female, cooks, and connected to the Spardas. She doesn't think Kyrie's connected directly to Vergil (Mizu would remember her then), but neither does Dante seem to have many close acquaintances. Nero, maybe? Especially if Vergil's calling her a girl, she must be young.
"That would be a good use of Lore," Mizu ponders, "A large expenditure up front, but in time, you'd well recover it back. So long as you can stand eating the same thing day after day." Mizu can, and if Vergil did not seem to enjoy making her food and bringing it over, she'd well consider it. She's had more of her own cooking in the last few days as his leftovers ran out and none replaced them. It hasn't been good eating, but it's been eating. Enough, anyway.
Her stomach betrays her with a growl. She hasn't eaten since this morning. Despite doing little during the day (laying her and meditating while Vergil slept, mostly), she's hungry again. Vergil's invitation is all she needs to accept the offer of free soup. Mizu strokes his hair a couple times. "As soon as my leech releases me, I'll fetch us both some soup over rice."
no subject
"You flatter me," he says. And also really is not making that strong of a case that he should move and allow her to leave the bed for the soup in the first place if she's going to stroke at his hair again. Granted, it's not having quite the sedative effect it had a moment ago, but it is still hardly discouragement for remaining close to her and continuing to use her as his pillow. Even if her stomach does growl at the prospect of a more filling, proper, and likely far tastier meal. Vergil chooses not to draw attention to it by asking her questions he can likely guess the answers to when it comes to her diet. Kai has all she could possibly need or want by now most likely, but that does not make Mizu particularly attentive to her own needs as far as that is concerned. She is not starving, and she is content enough with that regardless of how much she enjoys Vergil's cooking. "Terrible enough that it is I am unwell, but you had to compare me to a leech? You could not at least compare me to a limpet? Or perhaps a remora? At least provide me with the illusion of some capability of independence right now, and that my son is not essentially using you as one might a babysitter..."
no subject
"A babysitter has natural authority, as any adult over a child," Mizu says, "they would have an easier job than I with you. Not that Nero uses me for anything. I was concerned upon not seeing you for so long, and once I knew, he stood no chance to keep me away—seeing how fighting a human is beneath his honor."
She stops stroking his hair, instead resting her hand where it lays on his head. As with their mornings, he seems determined to keep her with him. No matter it would be only five or ten minutes to prepare and return with food. When he wants her to stay longer with him in bed, he finds a way. No matter that Mizu could choose to leave, any morning or now, because he'd never truly stop her. It's her own affinity for him that holds her.
"My leech, my clam, my catfish, you are too stubborn to lack all your independence. Even if your appetite is gone, you should eat. I'll even permit you to hold the bowl and spoon it into your mouth yourself. Such a wondrous display of masculinity and independence as has never been seen." She's laughing, unable to keep a straight face through all of it.
no subject
"Quiet, you," he warns playfully before "silencing" her with a kiss. At this rate, he thinks, Nero and Mizu could probably take this act on the road in poking fun at him while he's ill as neither of them have hesitated on the matter. But he keeps such a thought to himself. No doubt they will exchange notes on their own in due time if Mizu intends on stopping by with any regular frequency while Vergil is unable to go to her. He needn't expedite the two of them conspiring against him so quickly.
The kiss is brief if for no other reason than Mizu's bubbles of laughter and giggles defeating its primary purpose easily. Vergil does not mind. It is so good to hear her laughter that even sick as he is, poor as his mood has been, even he cannot resist the flutter in his chest. Without settling back down, he says, "I cannot help but feel I am permitted a bit of latitude in my unwillingness to have you leave my side. It has been a miserable, lonely past few days.
"But fine. If I must release you then I shall. But you are not to tarry and return to me quickly. I am not overeager to begin missing your presence again so soon."
And with that, true to his word, Vergil does shuffle over into his own space again, granting Mizu the freedom of movement once more.
no subject
Quieting, Mizu listens to the sadness behind Vergil's words. This imposition on his ability to do anything, the physical discomfort, all for no good reason, not the consequences of a fight of his own choosing, it's infuriating. She hates hearing a new source of pain to his existence, even if it's the sort most people live with regularly in their lives. It isn't natural, and they both know that.
She pulls back her arm as he moves away from her, and Mizu doesn't touch him as she leaves the bed. Experience informs her it's a good way not to leave the bed. "I'll move with the haste of a noodle restaurant chef," Mizu assures him, thinking of Ringo, "though I'll take care not to spill the food before it arrives."
Bittersweet smile on her lips, Mizu moves with all the health and vigor one could expect of a fully healthy person. Given her healing ability, the only marks on her body are mostly faded bruises Vergil gave her. Nothing that impedes her from fetching rice and soup. In the kitchen, she heats the soup on the stove, as well as warming her rice in another pot. While it heats, she also heats water for tea. It takes little time, as they only need warmth. Mizu serves rice into two bowls, pauses and eyes the other side of the house, and pulls out a third bowl. More rice, then soup.
She takes the first bowl to the closed door to Dante's room and sets it down. She knocks, announces "Soup," and leaves. Carefully, she nestles both bowls, with chopsticks, between an arm and her body to carry them back to Vergil's bedroom. She opens the door with eyes more on the soup than Vergil and walks into the room. One is set on the nightstand, not on any books, and she hands one to Vergil and leaves again.
Mizu returns with the teapot and two cups. It wouldn't be right without tea. She closes the door and sits down. "I am back as quickly as promised," Mizu says, "Now you can get something warm in you."
She kisses Vergil once. "The soup smells amazing, though no soup will ever taste as good as the terrible bowl swordfather served me the night we met. The fact I was eating garbage for a good while before that probably helps."
no subject
"Maybe so," he says, adjusting his hold on his chopsticks so he can begin to eat. "But that's a comment best kept between us. I don't believe Kyrie would take any offense to it even without knowing the full story, but Nero is..." Vergil pauses a moment to think of the best word to describe his son's tendency to leap to Kyrie's defense at the vaguest sense of attack or offense. He pushes a few vegetables around aimlessly. "Nero is quite protective of the girl. Needless to say, he goes above and beyond.
"Not that I can particularly fault him for it. Kyrie has been a constant in his life since he was a small child, and as I understand it, she was always willing to stand up for him even when no one else would."
And Vergil knows he doesn't need to explain to Mizu why that would make her so important to Nero. Or that it's still something that Kyrie is willing to do to this day given the conversation Vergil came home to on Kyrie's second day in Folkmore almost a month ago.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)