#phonkscribes

He usually came by himself to the library, when he wanted to escape his younger brother and find himself alone. The library was peaceful, quiet. The librarian was kind to him, and no one bothered him when he wanted to be left to the words scribed in the texts he’d pick up into his small hands. Opening the old hard covers to press his thumb along the pages, Vergil found comfort in reading the stanzas of the poems he indulged in, a part of him hearing his father’s voice in the back of his mind as he went about it. He was hoping to hear him again while Sparda remained absent from his and his brother’s life. The elder twin just didn’t anticipate seeing someone there in his usual spot. 

And that wouldn’t stand. 

Already he had to fight with his brother over his things since he just loved to steal and take what was his, but now his most cherished space? He wouldn’t be backing down, in fact, he’d make this person leave. This was his, and rightfully he would be fighting for it. You had a book of your own in your lap, held delicately and with care when you heard a whiny voice screech at you from above. A quick glance upwards showed you the source, a boy with silver hair and stark blue eyes. As blue as the sky. 

“Could you leave? This is my spot”, he had proclaimed to you, puffing his little chest out as he looked down at you. He had a sort of princely air to him, arrogant and demanding. So snooty. Who was he, and what right did he have to claim this area as his own? You furrowed your brow before closing your book, already marking where you had last left off. You were here first, and it’s always been first come, first serve. 

“No, I got here before you. You should just find some other place to read”, you replied before lifting your hand to shoo him away, like some kind of stray. 

Vergil couldn’t have been more offended by the gesture. If it were Dante, he could easily throw a punch or start fighting right here and right now, but he respected the library and what this place had become for him. He wouldn’t defile it over some petty little fight… and yet, he didn’t like that he was to be made to let some stranger sit where he liked to sit. One could suppose that it was the little devil in him wanting to protect his territory, or perhaps it’s the stubbornness a child has when they want something they can’t have. Either way, he refuses to budge, shaking his head to further express his point. 

“I’ve been here plenty of times before, and not once have I ever seen you. Leave now or else I’ll make you”, spoke the little prince. You could hardly believe it. You were three years his senior, but he was already pulling rank on you, what if he got the librarian involved? You didn’t want any trouble, especially one that could get you booted out of here, but you also didn’t like the way that he was talking to you. Especially when it felt like he was looking down on you, even when he was standing and you were sitting down. 

“So? I’ve been here plenty of times before too, why do I have to leave just because it’s your spot?”, you argued. Vergil frowned when you weren’t getting up to leave like he had asked you, his frustration visible as he took a step closer to you, threatening to take action directly. If he had to push you out, then he would. He didn’t want to share, but he hadn’t actually wanted to get physical. You could tell the librarian and then he’d get in trouble, and the thought of the librarian getting mad with him put a weight on his shoulders that he didn’t want to experience in full. 

The step that he took makes you tense up a little, pulling your knees into your chest as you glare up at him with all the indignance you could muster. You wanted this little boy to go away, to leave already. Why couldn’t he just leave you alone? Why did he have to be so difficult? 

“...”, noticing the change in your body language, Vergil takes another step, smirking as he goes. 

Boys could be really mean, you knew this, but was he actually going to hurt you? Over staying in his spot? Jerk. Pursing your lips together, your own frustration leads you to standing up finally to leave. Fine, if he wanted this so badly, you’d just go somewhere else. You could always return whenever he’d leave. Vergil looks up at you as he sees just how much taller you are than him, and yet you didn’t think to use your height against him? Seeing you now, the smirk falls from his face as he watches you grit your jaw. 

“Fine, if you want it so bad then you can have it!”, you shove past him, since he was in your way. Walking hurriedly through the shelves, your fleeting form passes him by as he remains where he was, watching you go before huffing. About time… and as he walks over to sit where you once were, the victory doesn’t feel as good as he thought it would. It was warm where you were, not cold like it would’ve been had he arrived first. He had seen the wetness in your eyes just as you left. 

Dante didn’t cry when he would have his bouts with his brother, were you so weak that you couldn’t fight back? Clearly you were larger, and probably stronger too, so why didn’t you? As he looked down at his own book, the thought wouldn’t leave his mind. Why did he care? You were an obstacle in his path, and he simply had to move you to the side so that he could get what he wanted. A frown had formed on his face where a smile should’ve been now that he could finally begin to read. Instead of his father’s voice, he heard his mother’s, chastising him for not playing nice. 

If she had seen the scene unfold, she would’ve made him apologize or something of that sort. She was always telling him how he had to learn to play nice with others, that it would be important for him. Vergil sighed, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose before allowing the hand to run up to push back his silvery locks. He couldn’t read when this was sitting on his consciousness, it would bug him, and then his brother would poke at him about it which would lead to him confessing this to his mother at one point or another. How troublesome… what would father do? 

The right thing. 

And that… would be to apologize… but he didn’t do anything wrong! You were some stranger, a no body! What were the chances that he’d even see you again? He came here to read, not to socialize,he got enough of that done with his brother. He was rather tired of having to deal with Dante constantly, especially when his younger brother made it his mission to pester him daily. You weren’t as terrible as Dante, he supposed, you actually left and obeyed him after a bit of pushing. There comes that nagging feeling again as he reflects on it a little more. 

He couldn’t focus anymore, his concentration led astray as he glanced up ahead, annoyed with this predicament he had created for himself. Vergil could scarcely recall what he had read anyway. He’ll come to see you tomorrow, when he can muster up the words to say. As he got up to leave, he remembered your face again, the expression you made when he had successfully managed to chase you out. You were on the verge of tears, he hadn’t ever seen anyone look so upset before in his life, not even in drawings or in paintings around the manor. It only twisted at him some more. 

Where were you right now? Not crying, he’d hoped. That would be pathetic, and he’d rather not see you again while you were doing that. 

But you’d gone home by the time he had left, carrying your book with you and thinking about how much that instance irritated you. Your cheeks bloomed with color, flushed as you fumed about that stupid prince of a boy. Why didn’t you put up more of a fight? Why didn’t you do something? The questions come as you find yourself back home, to be answered when you were likely to see him again back in that place. No matter, you’d come earlier next time, so that he wouldn’t be there to usher you out. Next time, you’d be better prepared. 

And so the next time came for when you arrived back at that library, seated back in that very same spot. 

Another book was picked out, and your knees were pulled into your chest again as you poured over it within your lap, propped up and open by your hands. You enjoyed works of fiction, of derring-do tales with heroes and heroines, monsters slain by a hero with a sword. Currently, you were sitting on the part where the hero meets with the antagonist for the first time, their meeting having been alluded to in the first chapter. Your eyes were blown wide in anticipation, holding onto every word as they began to fight, brushing their swords together… when a shadow draped itself over you again. You hadn’t noticed it– him–, until he had cleared his throat to get your attention. 

How long has it been? You had lost track of time while drifting amongst the pages…

“You again…”, you glanced up as he spoke, letting your eyes sit on him for a moment. 

He seemed lost, unsure of what to say until you relinquished your hold to return back to your book. Were the two of you within the scene right now, you’re sure that the characters of this story would’ve much disliked this interruption as well. Things were just getting good too! The boy gathers himself again before he resumes his train of thought. 

“What are you doing here?”, he asks. In my spot. 

Who ever decided that it was his spot? Did the librarian permit this? 

You ignore him, picking up on the sentence you had last read. Hopefully, he’ll get the hint this time and leave you be. If you could ignore him for long enough, then maybe he’d go away on his own. That’s what you had hoped would happen. The little prince glared as you pointedly ignored him. He didn’t want to say that, he didn’t mean to have asked you that as it was blatantly obvious, but the words had tumbled out before he knew what he was saying. Why had you returned here, knowing that this area belonged to him? 

“I know you heard me”, he says, his brow furrowing as you go on about your story. 

Right now, the hero and the villain were having an intense moment, a speech about ideals being traded amongst the other. The hero was in the right, they always were, but the villain was telling him about how he needed to get stronger. That he could not ever hope to defeat him if he didn’t seek to do the same; that he would never be bested if he didn’t have the strength to do so. The hero had lost in the end, but his fight was far from over. Your gaze softens, the story would be over too soon if the hero had won, but you were looking forward to the antagonist losing the battle. You turn the page to see what happens next, but you don’t get that chance as the book is torn from your hands. 

“Hey!”, you look up to him finally. 

He looks just as smug as he had on that day, where the two of you met. He held it back and away from you, smirking as he went. This was something that he was so used to having happened to him, the feeling of doing it to another was inexplicably rewarding. Holding this over you gave him a sense of power, and as you sit there powerless, he takes a moment to glance at the cover. It’s different from what he would typically read, not that it was any less interesting. 

“Give that back!”, you got up again to reach for it, only for him to take a step back with it still in his reach. Your movements are sluggish, hesitant. Could it be this is your first time ever having to fight for anything? Vergil scoffs. 

“If you want it… then you’ll have to take it”, but you already knew that. 

You make a face, and he expects you to play into his game. 

You just wanted to read in peace, just as he did, but now things have ended up like this. Your height isn’t so daunting as the motivated look behind your eyes. You meet him finally, hands balled up at either side, before you swiftly lift your leg. You didn’t want to have to resort to violence, but it was clear to you that he wouldn’t have listened to parley. Fully expecting him to gasp and fall to the floor in a heap, you’re disturbed to find that he only staggers somewhat, more taken back that you would actually hit him rather than the pain that comes with that delicate area. He looks surprised, but his guard is lowered for just a moment, long enough for you to take your book back. It comes out with ease as you take a step back, away from him with your eyes held wide and alert. 

He looks like he means to stop you, reaching to you as you leave him again, hurriedly at that this time. It isn’t how he had planned for things to go. He was going to apologize, he was, but then you looked at him and he lost it. Vergil grunts as he punches the side of a shelf with his tiny fist. He’ll find you again, upon your next meeting, he won’t be burdened by the guilt he thought he had for you. The library was a place for him to leave that sort of thing behind, so that he might have peace of mind. How is that you’re tearing that a part for him too? 

He’s too curious to drop it, and too curious to leave it be and to find another spot to read. He wants to see you again, to let you have it. He just hopes that he can keep you as a secret from his brother. Sparda knows that he’ll never let him hear the end of it. Vergil glances over his shoulder as he hears someone approach him from behind, thinking it to be you, only to see the librarian appear. At first, he thought that he might be in trouble, but the old man only asks if he’s alright after that little fight with his friend. 

Friend?! 

“We aren’t friends..! As if I’d ever be friends with– ugh…”, what is this feeling of nausea that’s hitting him suddenly? Is the thought of being that person’s friend truly so revolting? It couldn’t possibly have been from that kick to his groin. He’s not that weak… but he’ll have to try that move on Dante just to see. 

When Vergil eventually returns to the library within the next week, he happens across you again, just as you’re about to go to the spot that the two of you like. He liked it first, but he insists that you stole it. He can’t fathom you having been here before him. Your eyes met his, and his met yours. He stares longer, and for a second, he’s reminded of the warmth that he stole from you when you two first met. You don’t like having him stare at you so intently, so you’re the first to break eye contact. 

“... You can have it this time”, you state solemnly, not wanting to fight with this boy again. 

“No”, he finally says before he moves his eyes to the floor, “You… can stay this time. I won’t make you leave”, he tells you. 

“What? Why? I thought this was your spot?”, you’re about to argue but he grabs your hand and leads you along, dragging you a bit over to where you would ordinarily find yourself seated at. Why the sudden change of heart? Vergil doesn’t say anything to you as he expects you to sit down after you rightfully yank your hand out of his. He was being weird, not that he wasn’t weird already. But now he was being weirder than before, and twice as annoying. 

“We can read here together, I’m allowing this, since you won’t leave…”, he says, with some indignation. This boy reminds you of the villain of your story… the both of them act similarly in a way that you can’t place. Now you won’t be harassed while trying to read, but you don’t even know his name. You tell him yours first, and he seems confused at first. 

“That’s my name, so tell me yours”

Why would you want to know that? For a moment, he was sure that you would’ve been more satisfied that he was allowing you to take residence within his space, but now you’re inquiring about his name. Like the two of you could be friends… or something like that. 

“Vergil”, he says. 

When it was first announced that they were remaking the fourth installation of the mainline game, Wesker couldn't say that he really cared, the protagonist of that game wasn't his favorite to play through but it set the foundation for how the future games would play like. The grinding for better weapons wasn't all that great either, and there were certain parts that he'd rather skip over from how tedious they were, and he honestly wouldn't have pre-ordered it had it not been for one very important detail. Since the fifth release of the Evil Resident franchise, you would finally be making a return, and such was teased in the trailer for the remake. He recalls watching it for the first time, with baited breath as the teaser played out. The better graphics was certainly something to behold, but none of that mattered until he saw the familiar outline of your face, only in better detail and played by someone who encompassed the very idea of who you were.

And then, when he didn't think it could be any better than it was, he was graced by that lovely voice of yours. The sweet sound of your timbre elicited a response within himself that could be likened to a starving dog, just about ready to have his treat. Swallowing thickly, he had to calm himself, pressing a gloved hand to his mouth to quickly muffle and suppress the downright joy at finally having his muse return to him. And in such an honorable fashion. Wesker had his doubts, because there was only so much a mere actor could comprehend about you, they likely wouldn't play you to the tune he desired for your image and character... but this was something, something after years of nothing. The only thing he could celebrate your existence through was the erasure of your death via fanfics and indulging in the content that others lovingly crafted for you.

Now he could have more to play with, more content to keep him pacified and sated until the next installment receives its inevitable remake or remaster. You might be nearing the precipice of your death, retold for the next generation, but he would savor every moment he could have with you. Yet again, you're at the front and center of his mind, this time seating yourself(literally) in the center of his screen as he analyzes every subtle movement that he can. Hell, he hasn't even started playing it yet, and he's already taking as many pictures as he can for his designated folder on his hard drive. The devil works hard, but Wesker works harder. And when he finally receives his copy, he cannot help himself but to stare at the paused cutscene where your mocking grin graces his monitor. Observing you closely, he wants to make sure that he gets everything right, equipped with a notebook in hand even.