Born to Die

          She spoke of his father as if they were old acquaintances—friends. The woman seemed to know a lot about Sparda; maybe even too much for Vergil’s likes. He and Dante never had the fortune to get to know the man who started this whole story, but Assiel had. This, of course, struck a wrong nerve.         Keeping his focus on her, he narrowed his eyes slightly when she explained how it was possible for her to be here, only for him to turn his head to conceal the amused grin he had that expressed how ridiculous he found that story. “The Hell Gate.” He repeated, almost as if to ask if he heard right.         Her story didn’t make the least sense, though he supposed that was to be expected. She was a mystery all together. “I understand. The Hell Gate is indeed very powerful, but not powerful enough.” Instead of elaborating what he meant, he stepped away from his desk and began to head towards the exit. “You know your way out.” This was all he had to say on the matter.

          His stare was as frigid as the corpses he had hanging by a meat hook in the cooling room. Vergil was utterly unimpressed by what the woman was telling him, which should have been a hint that he was not about to confirm nor deny whether the man in question was his brother or not. Of course, he could admit that he did sense her the way he did Dante, but that was something he wasn’t about to make any mention of. “The feeds you see are from earlier,” He did reveal, “You seem to know a lot about Sparda. Unfortunately, my father failed mention much about you in return. If you are who you claim to be, pray tell how you, an ancient one, were able to come back? In this world, no less.”

           He considered her to be a nuisance than anything else, more so because she insisted that she knew him. It was unnerving, not to mention that he wasn’t fond of ‘outsiders’ knowing what his plans were. At the inquiry, however, he did arch a brow upwards, rather surprised that she was even asking such a thing. “For someone who claims to know a lot, you should know the answer to that.”

Ouch.  She really should not have come here.  Things were more simpler when she acted alone.  "What's wrong with wanting confirmation?" she asked.  "The only reason the second child rumor was confirmed was when I spotted you.  You had the same presence as Lord Sparda.  And I can't exactly get that feeling from a television viewing of your brother."

           ”My next question would be why you are here.” Vergil made a mental note to fire the imbecile who had opened the window in the first place, as well as the person responsible for monitoring The Order’s grounds. “I told you that I have no interest in your information on Mundus.”

"This building has been up for years.  Wanted to see what happened to it," she said.  It had been once called 'home', but not that she would ever tell him.  She rolled her eyes.  "Oh, give it a rest already!  The only person I'd nag is my sister."  She looked at the broadcast.  "So, that's your brother?"

            He didn’t even bother with the formalities, and just stared at the woman. “Who let you in?” His tone was less than welcoming, as was his expression as he studied her.

"The open window," she said.  She kept herself situated at the open window.  She pocketed a black feather left on the windowsill.  "Needed fresh air?"

The female Nephilim looked at the broadcast.  She had her signature cup of chocolate ice cream in her hands.  She smiled a small smile at Dante's image.  "He's going down the same road," she said.  She took a spoonful of ice cream.  "I remember when I was young."

imagine your icon trying to be your parent for a week

If I have followed you, whether I followed first or I am following back, I clearly want to roleplay with you at some point. So please don't ever feel like I don't want to interact with you or your muse(s).

  He looked off to the side. “I didn’t have to kill my twin to be haunted…” he murmured, looking back up to her. “Sorry for your loss, though. It’s a shame things couldn’t work out.” he added, his voice raising to a higher register than before. “Do you think she was revived too? After the Hell Gate thing.”

  ❝Oh? It looks perfectly fine to me.❞ Her reply was even. ❝Our versions of hell are vastly different, no?❞ The last statement seemed more a vocal thought than anything; that, however, brought Helena to her next question—❝Who are you?❞