All his time as his own self, as a shade of his true self as that self puts it, V has scraped to survive, to live. When death's cold hand reached for weakness, strength found life. That life, if it were to continue for any length, always meant fusing himself with his other half to create a whole. With the whole before him, a possibility V never considered, he feels all the lesser, weaker, and separate, so that his future, his success, is another form of death. His death, as he's come to know himself. Under those terms, there is no future in which he lives, yet he would take this whole, even now, over dying and condemning his other half to his eventual demise as well. Better to smash himself to pieces to become whole and wholly someone else.
He gets what he wants, he knows it now, and he wants more. What a greedy creature he is.
V waits and looks again at the flower he holds while Vergil quiets with heavy thoughts. The flower looks wholly different, pieces spiraling together, whole but apart. It would take but a small tap, it feels, to flood the ground with petals until nothing is left. Would each petal prefer to be free in the wind or nestled in the comfortable bed of its neighbors and self? V feels aloft, ungrounded, and shaky. He sits still and doesn't move, but he cannot answer what point there is in finding a life save that he wants one. Does anyone need more? Does he need more than others, for what he is?
He smiles, ever so slightly, at Vergil's recognition in seeing his humanity as pointless until, he assumes, Vergil became whole. A year ago. A whole year. What is it like, Vergil, to live a year? V doesn't ask. He is but a thing, a man at most, who Vergil has no more use for and, it seems, no interest in. V is curious about Vergil's life and what he's done, whether he's had the opportunity to get to know Dante or Nero better, whether he's made other connections, and how he's faced his fears and weaknesses. All unanswered and unlikely to be answered.
Neither of them will yield, so they each have rights only to themselves and nothing of the other. He never dreamed to know what would come of his future. It's only crueler to remain ignorant when it's before him. Vergil need not ask anything of V, knowing it all already, so that card remains in Vergil's favor. He inclines his head in recognition.
"Glad as I am to know I succeed, I'm not here to sit on your shoulder and tell you what to do," V says, "You wouldn't listen, and I wouldn't be living."
They have their separate lives, Vergil whatever he has, V whatever he makes. They no longer walk the same path, yet V does not want to push Vergil wholly away. He's embraced himself too much for that. "You have your life. I have mine. Yet I would not be strangers, if you ever see a reason to accept that."
Not today, not tomorrow, but if Vergil wants to find him, knowing he's here, V is sure he can.
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He gets what he wants, he knows it now, and he wants more. What a greedy creature he is.
V waits and looks again at the flower he holds while Vergil quiets with heavy thoughts. The flower looks wholly different, pieces spiraling together, whole but apart. It would take but a small tap, it feels, to flood the ground with petals until nothing is left. Would each petal prefer to be free in the wind or nestled in the comfortable bed of its neighbors and self? V feels aloft, ungrounded, and shaky. He sits still and doesn't move, but he cannot answer what point there is in finding a life save that he wants one. Does anyone need more? Does he need more than others, for what he is?
He smiles, ever so slightly, at Vergil's recognition in seeing his humanity as pointless until, he assumes, Vergil became whole. A year ago. A whole year. What is it like, Vergil, to live a year? V doesn't ask. He is but a thing, a man at most, who Vergil has no more use for and, it seems, no interest in. V is curious about Vergil's life and what he's done, whether he's had the opportunity to get to know Dante or Nero better, whether he's made other connections, and how he's faced his fears and weaknesses. All unanswered and unlikely to be answered.
Neither of them will yield, so they each have rights only to themselves and nothing of the other. He never dreamed to know what would come of his future. It's only crueler to remain ignorant when it's before him. Vergil need not ask anything of V, knowing it all already, so that card remains in Vergil's favor. He inclines his head in recognition.
"Glad as I am to know I succeed, I'm not here to sit on your shoulder and tell you what to do," V says, "You wouldn't listen, and I wouldn't be living."
They have their separate lives, Vergil whatever he has, V whatever he makes. They no longer walk the same path, yet V does not want to push Vergil wholly away. He's embraced himself too much for that. "You have your life. I have mine. Yet I would not be strangers, if you ever see a reason to accept that."
Not today, not tomorrow, but if Vergil wants to find him, knowing he's here, V is sure he can.