#lostsonofsparda

@lostsonofsparda || First Days of Winter Starters

Zephyr chuckled as he pulled the pot of spiced cider off of the stove. His usually loose curls were tied in a ponytail, a consequence of time passing and hair stylists being unavailable. As the first snowfall of the season happened outside, the witch simply smirked.

"You know, you can't keeping saying that every time I move." He joked back while a hand turned off the stovetop before donning an oven mitt and taking out a second batch of cookies.

The van came to a screeching halt, and in her usual fashion it was only inches from Nero's asshole daddy when it stopped. ... Which was good. The van had survived some utter absurdity but an attack from Vergil was one thing she still questioned and did not want to test.

... While she planned on doing a nice thing today what with the weather, this was unexpected. She wondered if it was meant to be some kind of fucked-up Christmas present to Nero. His family was known for fucked-up reunions, right?

"It's... you." She started awkwardly.

Don't make an asshole daddy joke. Don't make an asshole daddy joke. Nope. Not gonna do it.

"Huh."

Glancing around him idly for Dante, and equally confused not to see him, she cleared her throat.

"O-kay, not gonna tell Nero about this 'cause I feel like you're gunning for that? Dunno, just assuming. Uhhh... hop in. I've got hot chocolate."

This was excessively weird. And she had a friend who grew an arm back!

+ - Andante was usually able to make it to her apartment before Gamaliel's goons could get to her. usually. but today, perhaps she hadn't managed her time so wisely, or perhaps she'd spent too long trying to throw off pursuers both real & imagined, they actually managed to get the jump on her. really an embarrassing failure on my part, she managed to think to herself even as they advanced on her, blades drawn.

only five, though, that's pretty small for a first wave. The nephilim pulled her own angelic sword from its hidden sheath at her thigh, and held it before her defensively, the moonlight glinting off the blade. no words were exchanged; Andante didn't bother to speak with them anymore before a fight. What even was there to say, anyway? Beg them for mercy they weren't capable of showing? Ask them for a reason why? Taunt them, wonder why they were picking on a poor little half-angel without their boss present? Stupid.

a million different possible outcomes, plans of attack, plans of escape coursed through the nephilim's whirring mind. if she could draw blood, she could draw a banishment sigil... no, that would take too long, require too much blood, they were too close... even worse, she'd managed to allow them to back her into an alley, from which she couldn't flee. it really looked like a full-on fight this time.

& a fight it was, with all five surging in upon her. Andante was skilled at combat, but five on one with hardly any room for maneuvering left the brawler-turned-sword wielder on the back foot. Weaving like a danger around five separate blades was not easy, but desperation for survival can make any entity, supernatural or otherwise, capable of great things. On their own they could take one down, and did, her blade slicing across his throat and pulling out his divine energy. But she was only so fast, only so prepared, and a second angel was able to drive its sword into the flesh of her shoulder. Adrenaline -- & the knowledge that worse wounds awaited them if they stumbled -- kept Andante from faltering. She whipped around, ready to react, only to see the long end of a katana driven directly into the angel's core.

A new enemy? no, a rescue -- it took a moment for Andante to catch sight of the new entry, and she was more shocked by this than the attack itself. That half-devil swordsman... Vergil, he called himself. And in those mere seconds that Andante had taken to recognize him, he had taken the four angels by surprise, and slain them.

" I ... I had it under control. You didn't need to do that." Stupid proud nephilim, you're lucky to be alive! Just thank him!

"Considering you were moments away from being overwhelmed, I would say I found you just in time," was his cool response, before turning to ask if she was injured.

It was fairly clear she had been stabbed in the shoulder, though she did a fair job of pretending it didn't hurt, even as her blood dripped to the pavement. She was part angel, after all; the wound would heal quickly. No, she was more embarrassed than anything.

Dante regarded his brother for a few moments before speaking again after a soft sigh. “You feel you can rest easy here, at my home?” He smirked, “That’s something I never thought I’d hear you say.” 

When he felt Vergil's fingers on his face, he tried his best to keep his expression rigid and exemplary. As any good servant would. Of course, it didn't stop his body from feeling a slight shiver. After all, any touch of that demon blue would make Sven's knees drop. But there were more appropriate times for that, and this wasn't it. So he kept his composure as best he could.

“Do you speak from experience or is it just a personal thought?” He gives a sarcastic smile. A way to change the mood and hide his reactions more when he was around Vergil.

☠       ───     "Such a darling young babe," the tall demon muttered with slight curve of a smile. He bounced the small Nero in his arms, picking him up to hold the infant over his head, inspecting. Sparda then lowered Nero slightly to sniff the child's fluffy hair. Nero bursted into a fit of giggles, reaching with tiny hands to grab at his grandfather.

Vergil was an armful, but Dante found that he could let go the momentary discomfort if it meant he could get his twin to stop screaming like that .. Whatever he had dreamt, whatever was haunting him in that moment, just before wakefulness took him, Dante wasn’t sure he wanted to imagine .. If it was enough to crack Vergil’s icy façade, it must have been something out of Lucifer’s own ..

More than anything, Sparda knew, he was not in the running for “world’s best father.” He doubted he was in the top 100 .. He was too rough with the nestlings, too much a child himself, at times, or so his wife had once told him. Still .. He had loved the boys .. He remembered the day they were born. Small, squalling pink things.

“ .. You know, you always were small,” he offered, gently. “Your mother and I would say, you gave most of yourself to your brother .. You were always a good big brother, you were concerned with him. You made up for it, of course. Long legged, like a fawn, and so quick, running everywhere. Mi Paulo Efferus. Little Savage One .. “

Sparda swallowed, not wanting to become lost in nostalgia when he feared his time was yet still too short.