#criimsoncloud

@criimsoncloud

Dante had called his feelings guilt, but Vergil begged to differ. He had never felt guilt before - so why now? Especially with his supposed humanity missing? Returning from the Underworld to walk amongst a world he'd only recently had fresh experiences of -- and even then, those memories of asking his brother to help were peculiar. Off. Misplaced. Like he'd observed, but not physically been there; akin to watching a movie played back on a glass screen - yet it was intangible before him. It had been his belief that he had reabsorbed the two halves split from their original self, up until Dante had let it slip that - yeah, the man clad in leather and inked with nightmares, had still been around after driving his cane into Urizen - though had hurried off quickly as he was too weak to aid in the conflict.

Vergil wondered if that was the reason he'd returned. If he was still missing a piece of himself - or if that part of humanity he had shunned and neglected in favour of his more feral side had broken off out of pure desperation. The fact that he was a different man to the one who drove his own blade into his heart unequivocally true. As for the reason? Vergil was still searching. Local libraries were redundant; holding barely any content on demons, let alone the intricate nature of severing souls in two.

From Dante's account - his humanity had been crumbling as he shambled and limped away - so the fact that he could still be alive was a slim possibility to him. Yet that posed more questions. Occam's razor; his humanity was still alive, yet the nightmares had been slain, and Vergil needed to hunt him down to try and answer the slew of uncertainties that had been crawling around in his head, not unlike the roots that once covered his frame. If he found his humanity dead, then he, for once in his life, was at a loss. Take it on the chin, grit his teeth, and moved on - as he always had.

Leaving Devil May Cry for purposes outside of work was unusual for Vergil, but the small room he had been offered was claustrophobic. Too many questions and not enough answers were birthed when he was lying in his single bed with scratchy linen sheets. Before, his prideful self would have refused to sleep on anything less than cotton; but he didn't have such a choice, and gruelling stints of sleeplessness in the Underworld broke his preferences down to where newspaper was a godsend.

Send me a “ 🔥 “ for an unpopular opinion.

I don’t have a lot of these opinions so I’m really thinking right now after the first two, lol. 

I don’t like snobbery or elitism in RP comms. I was in the Yakuza RP scene for a while and there were these two fuckheads who looked down at anyone who did not-sfw stuff like they were a lower class of people. It was ridiculous. Imagine being in this game and acting like that. And they weren’t minors so idk wtf their problem was. 

I wasn’t the only person they singled out and as a result these two assholes ended up only rping with themselves, no surprise there. They thought they were God’s gift to RP. One of them was really possessive and controlling over the other too, it was weird situation. 

[[ continued from X ]]

From what he understood of V’s situation---much of it pieced together from offhand conversations or during the occasional drunk confessions---the joy of birthday celebrations were not something he had experienced for some time now. Admittedly, Luxu himself did not have what one would call a “birthday”---certainly he had claimed a Holiday for himself, during which he would accept Tributes and Offerings from his various followers of his lascivious creed---but there was something distinct about the function of human birthdays: events during which one is meant to be properly appreciated for their existence in the world.

Every once in a while he would spare a birthday drink for a favored customer, but otherwise, he’d never truly bothered with such frivolous concepts.

...That is, until fairly recently.

Drop me a character name and I’ll reveal my muse’s heart…

VISUAL ATTRACTIVENESS: 💗💗💗 (He sees the image of Dante in the broken shell of a little doll of a boy. He’s like porcelain, perfect and breakable. Too hard to fix if he breaks though. Yet he sees that part of him that is his human side, and Doppel reels back in disgust. Doppel feels like he has to be a pillow for this pathetic creature, cause Dante would be disappointed to come home to his doll cracked in half.) (purely aesthetic appreciation of looks)

FRIENDSHIP LEVEL: 💗 (Doppel keeps it at minimum, only because Dante still seems to want them to get along, so Doppel will “tolerate” the boy, but that is the best he can do for Dante. Aside from that, he is a cutesy little thing that probably would make friends with mice and sparrows and it makes Doppel sneer.) (how close a friend they consider them)

SEXUAL DESIRE: 💗💗💗💗💗 (Curiosity solved for curiosity sake. Once he grew up into a demon summoner, Doppel is interested in V’s powers finally, not just because he’s Dante’s, but also because it is a type of power he is not wholly familiar with, one he is interested in studying, and it makes him want to touch V’s skin and hair and get in his teeth and body and every orifice and find out what makes V tick, and the fact that V moans for Dante while he does it is just a bonus.) (wanting to have sex with them)

ROMANTIC INTENT:  💗 (Once again, only for Dante’s sake, not because he likes V or anything like that... He just wonders what V feels for his father, and wants to hear it and study it and make V come face to face with it.) (hoping for a romantic relationship)

He could never make it through a single month- let alone a year -without getting involved in some sort of supernatural conflict. No matter where he went, city or small town, it seemed Sparda- or Spencer as he went by as he traveled -couldn’t escape the eyes of the underworld.

He’d heard screams from inside the house. Smoke seeped in whips from the cracks of windows and shutters. He could sense them inside: demons. A man bolted from the building, panicked and no doubt on his way to cry for aid. Strangely however, as Sparda himself ran towards the building, despite the screams and the loss of life he sensed, it was the devil’s numbers thinning. Was there already a hunter inside?

As he forced open the door, Sparda witnessed the last demon collapse. Upon its corpse, impaling his prey with a cane stood a man, tall with dark hair and a somber yet mischievous air. “Well, it seems my help is unneeded here.”