#ic drabble

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Dante and Vergil both returned to the burnt out ruins of their childhood home. After all of the destruction that had been brought to Redgrave it was amazing that this burned down manor had stood the test of time even now. The city did have reconstruction efforts being done to bring life back to it. But it was unlikely anyone else would return to this home besides the twin Sons of Sparda.

Dante held a bouquet of three different flowers that he and Vergil had been able to decide upon. If it wasn't for help from Kyrie, Nero's girlfriend, they probably would never have been able to figure out a proper arrangement. One flower a striking red to represent Dante, Another a cold chilling blue for Vergil, and the final flower group a deep royal purple for their long lost father... Sparda. He was still assumed dead though there was never the official confirmation. No monument left to him or gravestone. His body was never even found.

All that one could assume that he was dead. After all if he was alive he would have saved his family wouldn't he? To be there to rescue his wife from her death when they were just boys. Sparda did love Eva with all of his demonic heart.

But now they both were gone.

Vergil moved into the house to place the heavy marbled stone he had brought. With engravings on the marker rock for both Eva and Sparda. He placed it directly infront of the ruined family portrait. What had once been a symbol of his great shame not that long ago.

His icey cold eyes stared up at it as he finished placing the marker stone. It's weight keeping it secured to the floor, it's magical enchantments Vergil had carved into it would keep even the most powerful demons from being able to desecrate it. As he continued to stare lost in thought at the painting. Dante moved wordlessly next to him to place the flowers at the head of the newly placed tombstone.

"Rest in Peace Mom, and Happy Mother's Day." Dante spoke softly as he laid the flowers down as gently as one would lay a newborn in their cradle. Leaning back up and placing a hand upon Vergil's shoulder. "I hope they're both resting in peace." He muttered softly.

Vergil felt a small smile grace his lips as he looked to his brother. "We aren't trying to kill each other anymore. That should ease her suffering I'd hope."

Dante returned the smile before lightly punching his brother's shoulder instead of using it for support. "Come on, you still have a son to go suck up to. His mom's not around and it's something you have to make up to him." He spoke teasingly. Motioning for Vergil to follow after him.

Vergil let out a dismissive scoff at his brother's comment. Though he didn't deny his sentiment. With a more content feeling swelling in his chest he looked back to their new tribute to their lost family.

"Happy mother's day. I hope you aren't too ashamed of how long this took." He spoke cheerful despite the heaviness of his words. Before following after Dante.

The black overcoat was close, but less one row of buttons and the collar wasn't as stiff. The brooch she'd used as a base for glamouring a True Cross insignia pin had a flat back, instead of being three-dimensional the entire way. Rayna's Doc Martens were actually a match, after removing any cutesy charms from the laces.

Despite not being her competition gunbelt, both the leather pouches and engraved Model 29 revolver it holstered were still a bit too fancy. Exorcists were afforded some room for personal preference, hopefully.

All the same, the apprentice turned her unmodified key in a closet door and stepped into some quiet classroom, half the world away. The subject matter of a stray document left on a lecture bench confirmed that this was some flavor of True Cross-- and Japanese, oddly enough. At least she'd visited Gavin in Tokyo enough times to get the language down.

What in the world is Fang doing at a school?

The young woman is heading out into the hall to find a storeroom.

"T-pup! Here boy!" He finally decided to check on his lab and his dog, look he loved the little doid. T-Pup was all he had for so long!

"Bark! Bark!"

The little canine robot dashed out from his charging port to go to his master, jumping up and trying to lick at the fox's face with his rubbery tongue. Aeolus laughed and picked up his little companion, holding T-Pup close enough to allow the little creation to have this moment of joy.

"Okay! Okay! Down boy! Down!" He couldnt be mad, this little dog....was all the family he had left. He crouched as he set the canine down and reached in his pocket for the empty can he had pocketed from one of Solaria's rifts. "Look what I brought you! Aluminum!"

He saw his pup's ears perk up at the word. Their island wasn't exactly rich in scrap so it was a rare treat indeed for his little machine. T-Pup was equipped to process any soft scrap metal into nails, screws, and bolts for later projects. Aeolus wouldn't call it..."eating" per-say, but the behavior was pretty much the same for any dog.

"Do you want it?" A soft excited growl was his response. "Sit."

Wirrr....Clunk.

"Roll over."

Ticka tac...

"Play dead!"

KA- BOOM!!!

Aeolus shielded his face from the flying parts of his hound...oh yeah... he added that self repair function just in case something happened. But this is NOT what he meant by the command.

"St---that eno--That's enough old man!"

The little Xaela growled and squirmed in the older man's arms, but his protests were for naught. If anything, it only made the Elder's snickering grow into a fit of laughter, the large hands rubbing over his charge's face until both bruises and healthy skin alike were covered in gooey, green layer of ointment.

"Never enough! This is your punishment! Retribution for picking a fight with someone twice your size!"

Elder Kroin's voice boomed behind his laughter, the youth's face finally firmly cupped between the two calloused, goo-covered hands. All the glee was suddenly cut from the sharp, scaled features, leaving only a stern stare behind.

"Love. Why would you do something so stupid, hm?"

Luvshan grimaced from the nickname, but didn't retort, his pride shrinking under the authority.

"…He…he said my parents were weak."

"Ooh! And what if they were?"

That pride soon returned, a scalding glare shot towards the older Xaela.

"They were not weak!"

"But what if they were?"

"They were not!"

"How do you know?"

"I just do! Y' know nothin'! Stupid old man!"

The quick retorts roused a snort from the elder, his mask of seriousness quickly breaking apart. Instead he rolled his eyes with a deep, theatrical sigh, practically pushing the child free from his grasp.

"Ahh! Youths!"

He exclaimed, his palm landing onto Luvshan's head instead, smearing the shade of green onto his bright orange locks for good measure.

"One…does not need to be strong…to be strong!"

He could only beam a grin at the fellow Xaela's dumbfounded expression, free hand shot forwards with a energetic thumbs-up.

"Old man wisdom, free of charge! You will get it one day."

One time when I was little, I mean real fucking little, my mom was having over these important guests from Albion. Some fucking bigwigs, who cares about the specifics. The point is, normally my mom, she never stepped foot in the kitchen. She hired people to handle that shit. But she didn't trust anyone else to handle this one recipe. Family specialty on her side or something. Devil's Food Cake.

I used to never understand the concept of a muse. Having spent hours and hours looking into every possible meaning of the word, A muse. Such a funny concept is it not? That some shmuck could just spend hours to days at a time creating. Because Someone was intruding on your thoughts. 

Unable to be purged or rather, not wanting to purge them. It always seemed so silly to me back then. Looks like even I fall victim to not following my own advice, “always look into different perspectives.” I didn't even realize there was a perspective I was missing. Not until I saw you that is. Because I understand now, more than ever, what drives people with a muse. To have the bubbly thought of someone so special bouncing around your head like some DVD screen saver. Someone you'd recite Shakespeare to in attempts to make them smile.

 Someone who makes the room go from cold bleak miss matched colors that can overwhelm the mind, full of people but no one to talk to, to consistent bright and warm shades of lavender just by walking in and smiling at me. A gal with no strings attached. Even though you've got me strung up tighter than your crossbow.

One moment, he’s standing in the forest, gasping for breath, coughing out bits of smoke from his lungs. The next, his vision fades to dark before clearing to reveal—

A large table in the dining hall of a grand castle, seated at which are Father? Mum? Papa? Mother?! Seliph and Julius and Julia?! and him, all happy and chatting over a feast, the sense of family and safety permeating the air—

A battlefield, smoking and dripping and overrun by two armies, in the midst of which he is healing and defending while Seliph leads them on and Julia throws a spell straight and true into Julius’s heart—

A tower, where he prays and prays and prays and sees visions sent by gods and goddesses, that whisper secrets and exhortation and consolation into his mortal ears—

A small table in a little hovel, surrounded by Father and Mother and him and is that a sibling? Julia? Julius? Someone entirely new? and the door opens, and in come Papa and Mum and Seliph and it’s the first scene, just lower social stations—

A cathedral, in the midst of which he attends to his parish and parishioners as the head priest, praying and giving thanks and leading services—

He’s the prince and heir of Grannvale—

He’s the vessel of the resurrected Loptous—

He’s a no-name apothecary—

He’s a wanderer out in the wild—

A general—

A foot soldier—

A king—

A pauper—

Kind—

Cruel—

Healing—

Killing—

Magic—

Blade—

eVEryThINg aNd nOThiNg—

It stops, and he can make little sense of what he now sees. There’s a Thing hovering over Garreg Mach, unlike anything he’s ever dreamed of (is this really a dream?) and unable to be comprehended. A youth around his age with magenta hair and pointed ears speaks about, among other things, his “gifts” to them, and with the black stain on his chest not unlike the redhead’s own, Saias suddenly understands that this man gave him his mark and that everyone else who came along must’ve had similar marks. And then his attention is ripped away because there are bodies and they are the bodies of Ares and Reyson and Ishtar and Katarina?! When did they die?! They never made it out?! and they’re warping and inky and breaking and tearing and turning into monsters and everything flashes white and he’s back in the forest (was it all just a dream?)—

(he doesn’t want to remember. he doesn’t want to remember because if he does he’ll scream and cry and break and snap and shatter into teeny tiny little pieces that can never ever be put back together ever again—

so he doesn’t.)

He’s standing in the forest, clutching Theodore and Reyson’s feather. He must’ve spaced out a bit. Must’ve had a nice little daydream where everyone in his family was all together for once. Where they were all happy and no one was sad or upset. It was a very nice daydream, he thinks.

(And maybe, he decides, it could be reality. They can all be a happy family again.)

"Did some building work up at Abernathy today. The Minutemen outpost needed an armor store and Connie can't keep up with trade demand, so we set up a general store there too. Fixed the fence, did some wiring... Mac and I were wiped. I should build a couple private rooms, though, next time we visit.

"That smolder... damn, Mac. Not fair. Not when there's a squad of Minutemen, eleven farmhands and the Abernathys all milling around a few feet away. Not fair at all."

"County Crossing sent us off to clear Raiders out of Revere, again. I swear they're like radroaches... speaking of which, Mac made me nearly piss my pants laughing today. We were goin' down to that sandy pool between the Crossing and Revere, when Mac shouts 'Radroaches'! Turns out it was actually mirelurk spawn, as momma crab burst up outta the sand in front of me. Mac went a bit red. He hates makin' stupid mistakes like that. Maybe he needs reading glasses and won't admit it...we should stop by 88 and get both our eyes checked. It's been a while. Anyway, Preston was glad to hear the all clear again but it looks like we have an escaped courser shepharding raiders to deal with next. It never rains but it pours. At least we can get a night of privacy here. Mac has it comin', the scoundrel."