To say nothing of the whole "crashlanding in another world due to spirit fox" situation, Nero can't help but marvel at how surreal a week this has been. The Red Grave incident. The Qliphoth. Rescuing Lady, and finding Dante and Trish unharmed. V and Urizen and Vergil. His father. He has one of those, alive and well. And there he is, sitting in a too-small booth in a burger dive with a samurai sword propped up next to him.
This has gone better than he expected. Granted, with as little as he knows of Vergil and how volatile their encounters have been so far, he expected to be bleeding by now. Maybe the guy's got a massive stick up his ass, and maybe he's awkward as hell, but he's being cordial, if not friendly. He seems to want to try. And that may have been what Nero was most nervous about seeing him again, even more than the possibility of violence. He knows how to handle it if some maladjusted half-demon asswipe comes at him with a sword. He would absolutely not know how to handle a father with no interest in him, dismissing him as weak and not worth his while.
Neither of them have a clue how to handle this. Vergil's probably just as nervous as Nero is, but he's trying. They're both trying.
The order comes up, and Nero takes one tray in each hand. As he passes by the napkin dispenser on the counter, one of his wings appears and snatches a small stack to bring with him.
"Looks good," he says, sliding Vergil's tray in front of him, then passing up the napkins from his wing. Damn, that thing is handy. He slides into the booth across from him and snatches a napkin, placing it politely in his lap before he starts mixing the little paper cups of condiments together into a strange beige-pink concoction. "Thanks for paying."
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This has gone better than he expected. Granted, with as little as he knows of Vergil and how volatile their encounters have been so far, he expected to be bleeding by now. Maybe the guy's got a massive stick up his ass, and maybe he's awkward as hell, but he's being cordial, if not friendly. He seems to want to try. And that may have been what Nero was most nervous about seeing him again, even more than the possibility of violence. He knows how to handle it if some maladjusted half-demon asswipe comes at him with a sword. He would absolutely not know how to handle a father with no interest in him, dismissing him as weak and not worth his while.
Neither of them have a clue how to handle this. Vergil's probably just as nervous as Nero is, but he's trying. They're both trying.
The order comes up, and Nero takes one tray in each hand. As he passes by the napkin dispenser on the counter, one of his wings appears and snatches a small stack to bring with him.
"Looks good," he says, sliding Vergil's tray in front of him, then passing up the napkins from his wing. Damn, that thing is handy. He slides into the booth across from him and snatches a napkin, placing it politely in his lap before he starts mixing the little paper cups of condiments together into a strange beige-pink concoction. "Thanks for paying."