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[ he could indeed throw a rager with a whole-ass bartender in this suite and he would also rather die than admit Vergil was right. granted, that was his feeling about anybody being right, so Vergil wouldn't take it too personally, one hoped. ]

I have no intention of spreading rumors in this city. There's nothing to gain from it and the populace are among the rudest people I've ever met, and I lived in New York for two years.

[ ... but Gil's promise is a promise, as couched in derision as it is as he makes his way down the bar, because of course it has a wine fridge, his little blond head disappearing from sight as he considers their stock and emerges, victorious, with the wine that Vergil wants to get white-girl wasted on.

not even a red wine, really. still, he'll pull two wine glasses from behind the full-ass bar that he's behind, pouring a glass for himself, and a glass for Vergil... locking eyes with the man, and giving him more than the usual amount of a pour, the closest thing the ~~king~~ man shows to pity without words. he then hooks a leg around the barstool hidden behind the bar and seats himself, chin on his hand and elbow on the countertop as he settles in. ]

And I'm guessing from the haggard look in your eye and the Prada bags you're carrying under them that it wasn't a fond memory of acquiring a family dog.

[ listen, he's not a heavy drinker. usually he drinks a small glass of wine with dinner when the occasion calls for it, but he hasn't gotten wasted in years. the last time was probably at his 30th birthday party, and it was because his cousin kept going drink for drink with him until he passed out.

he vowed he'd never do it again and yet here he is.

he takes the glass of overpoured champagne, with a murmur of grazie under his breath as he leans to put his elbows up on the bar table. he's making a face. he doesn't want to talk about it. he doesn't. but maybe tracing out the memory will help him stop overthinking it. the pain of it was real, and he could taste the fire, the smell of something rotting, but.

convincing himself it didn't happen to HIM was difficult. ]

The people in this city are... wildly strange, and very quick to jump on you at the smallest chance they can see to entertain themselves. They are either very bored or very traumatized.

[ but, he waves a hand. if anyone in the city was having memories like he was, it made sense.
he takes another nice mouthful of his drink. ]

I was young. I'm not sure how old. Eight? Nine?

I was sitting outside, alone. In a playground.
Reading a book of William Blake poems, and I was .... angry about something. I cannot recall what.

I remember ... looking up, and there was a fire.
My family home, a mansion that... I'm sure had a name.

It was up in flames.

[ gil, on the other hand, might be a homunculus made out of wine, if only anyone was brave enough to cut him open to check. he takes a sip of his own drink, bottle in easy reach between the pair of him as he watches Vergil do so many un-Vergil-like things--the man had impeccable manners and such a stiffness to his aura, it was strange to see him sag down and brace on the bar.

if Gil had been a kinder man, he might've acknowledged that it worried him. but he doesn't have feelings about people, that's stupid. so he just waits, letting the silence hang if that's what Vergil wants, trying not to look too relieved when he decides to clue the blond in on what's ticking away in his head.

he lets the matter of the city's riffraff drop--he'd already wasted more breath than he planned on them, and Vergil had something more interesting to present him.

it's odd, to hear Vittore speak like this--usually the man is so composed and elegant, full of lines of carefully considered, likely research dialog. he, at times, reminded Gil of an automaton; so practiced and poised that the blond often found himself trying to catch Vittore on the back foot, and yet, he'd rarely accomplished it since Vergil was good at dodging around Gil's more explicit overtures meant to rankle the man's composure.

to see him frayed in the wake of a memory that was his, but not... fascinating. worrying, if he were capable of that feeling. ]

I see. It make sense, then, that you're here in distress... though the level of stress you're showing belays something as simple as a fire, Mr. Vittore.

[ because things burned down and you replaced them. something broke and you changed it out for something else. that's what people did, right?

unless it was something irreplaceable, though Gil struggled to figure out exactly what that was off the top of his head. ]

[ if someone were to tell him gil was a wine-homunculus, he WOULD believe them. The man did often have a glass of wine in those photos he felt the need to send vergil sometimes when he was in town and planned to visit the shop soon.

he takes another long drink from his wine--definitely not taking etiquette with it on the side where he normally would. he's drinking it like one would a glass of water, at this point. the somewhat bitter tang of it rolling on his tongue as he looks up at the man, nodding his head once as he points out the obvious flaw in the story: that a fire wouldn't keep him awake with nightmares unless there was something else to it. ]

The fire was just the start of it. The... call to arms, so to speak. I feel that the beasts that set my home ablaze had been aiming for my mother and... Dante.
I was not at home for a reason I do not quite recall. ...Dante claims it was his fault.

[ another long drink of his white wine. a quiet sigh. ]

Creatures showed up. Dozens of them. Twisted in body, tight muscle wrapped over jagged bone, faces that were like dried leather pulled over monsterlike skeletal shapes. Teeth coming out of multiple places, large as a child's hand. Leaking out black ichor and fire-bright blood from their joints, like veins on the surface of their skin...

[.... he shudders, just remembering them. ] Big ones, small ones. They chased me. They chased me, calling for my blood while laughing the whole time.

[ maybe figuring out he bled wine instead of blood would go miles in explaining why Gil was Like That, but alas, Vittore is a (timid) man and Gil contents himself with white wine for once, going much slower on his drink than the other man is--one of them drinking socially, one of them drinking to not think, and how odd it was that the roles were reversed for once.

Vergil fortifies himself with another drink, and so Gil waits, almost politely. his expression is fairly neutral, he thinks, as the man pulls through his story the way a plow would pull through fields in need of tilling, inevitable but burdened. the words are heavy in his teeth, arranged like some wretched encyclopedia of his traumatic past, and Vergil brings the fantastic into the story--

something that, once upon a time, Gil might've accused him of making up, or having already been into the wine before coming to his company, but as of his experience in France, as of coming to Kaisou... it's not impossible. Gil takes another swallow of wine to wet his lips before he speaks to give Vergil a reprieve--and in the same motion he lifts the wine bottle in a silent offer to pour Vergil more. ]

Well, that's fucked up. And I'm guessing that they didn't just run you up a tree so that they could taunt you until their mothers called them for dinner.

[ maybe it's far too mild for--a reaction, for commiseration, for empathy, but Gil's never really been someone to get in too deep to someone else's feelings--and Vergil didn't need someone to wade into his misery for him. he needed someone with sturdy footing with a hand down towards the mire. ]

[ he raises his glass to allow gilgamesh to fill it, again. welcoming the drink, and continuting to sup from it once he'd finished. he was far too sober for these thoughts and the quicker he could get it down the better. maybe he'd be able to go home, fall into bed, and sleep until midnight the next day. Auguries could stay closed for the day, hours be damned. it's his shop. ]

You would be correct.

Their aim was not merely to torment me, it was clearly for something far worse. Given that my home and the rest of my family was likely dead, I was next. And they made no game in trying to hide that fact.

Once they cornered me in the graveyard. Well. [ another mouthful of wine. another low shudder to his shoulders. ]

I believe any normal human child would have died, with what they did. [ he doesn't want to repeat it. ] I believe there's only so much blood a human can lose before they lose conciousness and fade.
And I lost more than that.

To my hand I called a sword. My father's sword.
But I failed to weild it, and they drove it. Through.

[ his hand moves to touch the spot in the middle of his torso--below his chest, above his belly. ]

[ he'll fill the glass generously--far more generously than Vergil would usually permit for, but the man is allowing the heavy pour, and so the heavy pour is what's granted to him in this, his time of need.

it is his shop. not anyone else's, not even the bear's, as best as he had tried.

it is not in Gil's nature (or would it be his nurture?) to provide comfort. he watches Vergil as he shivers, as he continues that steady, inescapable forward motion through the field of his mind, his memory, shaking at the stones in his wake, for they are formidable. even Gil can admit that, as Vergil's words trail off, trapped behind his teeth, strangled on his tongue.

Gil stays silent to let him speak, to let him try--to let him fail, both in his memory and in this moment, and it is a blessed show of mercy that he lets that go unremarked on. his kindnesses are few and far, but he can afford them to Vergil in this moment, eyes falling on the man's hand. ]

'Tis a pity your father's hand was not there to wield it. Perhaps even a failing on his part. [ ... another mercy, that he would assign blame away from Vergil--not deriding him for being too weak to take his own care. ]

Did the universe grant you mercy at that moment? [ the mercy of a rescue... or the mercy of death. mercy is mercy, whether it's cruel or gentle. ]

[ he'll likely thank gil for his generosity come morning. He's taking another long drink of the wine--and at this point he's lost all track of how much he's actually imbibed. That sort of thing happens when you are continuously poured drink before you finish what was in your glass, first.

But it mattered little to him. He closes his eyes, giving his head a shake--an attempt to ward off the images he'd just spoken off again. ...Clearly the wine was already starting to sink in--Vergil wasn't a regular drinker, after all-- a cheap drunk if there ever was one, due to his usual avoidance of the stuff. ]

His hand was not there. No. He had disappeared, some time beforehand. Long gone, by that time, I feel. I cannot say for sure.

And the universe did not grant me mercy in one sense, but it did in another.
Noone came to save me. I think... that is what triggered part of the memory. The fact that Dante came to my rescue today. The other part was his features, he had ... transformed, halfway into a devil, to scare the bear out.

[ the face had twisted and turned into the events that shook him to his core. ]

The mercy I was granted was the same, I think.
There was ... something in my blood, when that blade bit into my body.
It rose out of my skin like another being having been wrenched out, called forward to protect me when noone else would.

...and then I woke up in my bathroom, Dante shaking me and begging me to come back to him.

[ Vergil is not a cheap drunk, do you know how much that bottle of wine costs?

still, it doesn't stop Gil from topping him up before he can see the bottom of his glass, giving Vergil the liquid courage necessary to stumble through another man's ugly, bloody memories, still sipping his drink as the man pours his misery out in each heavy, shaking breath, the blond's eyes inscrutable.

so Vergil's blood sings with something inhuman--and isn't that fascinating? Gil can feel the questions behind his teeth, but he holds them back at the misery in Vergil's face and stature, sighing out a heavy breath when Vergil ends his tale. ]

Well. Yorokobe, wakamono, for you woke up in your bathroom with your kin clasped to you, ready to draw you away from a misery that was yours, but not.

[ he pauses, drink halfway to his lips as he realizes something... strange, in what he said, clearing his throat and giving a little shake of his head. ]

Rejoice. For it is only your past, and not your present, nor your future, and fate has cast you what I would call a comparatively kinder hand this time. Although I'm not certain your father in this world would take up a blade for you either, so you're zero for two on that front.

[ he holds his wine glass up as if to invite Vergil to clink their drinks together, as if he didn't sound entirely off his gourd at the moment. ]

[ he has to stare at Gil. Both because he's filling his wine glass again and ... half because he just spoke another language. Japanese, if memory serves, but. Why the hell did he just speak that sort of sentence to him? he doesn't know that much japanese, honestly, so the sentence is lost on him, even if the rest of the congratulations about waking up safe and protected in Dante's hands.

He has to quirk his eyebrow at him. ]

...Wakamono, hm? [ he does his best to repeat the word, absolutely butchering with his own accent as he takes another long drink from his wine glass. What if he just lays his head down against the bartop? he's gonna do that, looking up at him with furrowed eyebrows. ]

My father in this world is afraid of spiders, let alone be someone who could pick up a weapon. I am zero for two, there. You are correct.

[ he can raise his glass to clink. he's gonna clink. ]

I am not terribly close with ... my family. The Vittore family. It was all about education and prestige with them. They were unbelivably upset when I moved to America.

And now here, I have a brother.

[ he'll lift his head. take a long drink. ]

And a son.

[ he waves his hand when Vergil gives him the inquisitive eyebrow of what the fuck was that, sucking his teeth as he tries to think of... how to explain it. ]

It means 'young man', more or less. Usually one would say 'shounen', or young boy, but... you're my age. I'm not shaving that many years off of you. [ but why did he say it in the first place? where had he heard it? he can't quite place it, running his tongue along his teeth as no answers come to mind, but they're moving on, blessedly.

he will clink their glasses together. ]

Perhaps your father, much like my father, could hire someone to do the sword-lifting instead, since his presence was required in half a dozen other places, if he were to be believed.

[ go team daddy issues in two worlds!

he's smirking at first as Vergil lays his head on expensive, cool to the touch marble, already planning to commiserate about the family situation back home--but when he takes a sip of his wine to wet his throat, Vergil drops a bombshell and Gil legitimately chokes on it, head immediately coming down to stare the man in the eye. ]

You have a what?! I would've comfortably bet a month's worth of my salary on you being a virgin!

It's the silver hair, is it not? You refuse to shave years off me because of the silver hair. It makes me look old.

[ he's not at all annoyed by it. nope not at all. he's gonna continue to lie his face down on the bartop as the (?) glasses of wine are finally starting to sink into his brain, and he's trying to sit up straight again. trying. ]

My father wouldn't hire a sword-carrier. He would merely pay those people attempting his life off, that's probably easier in his books.
[ ......and now

and now gil is
saying words to him
words that are upsetting him because who
fucking cares
if he's a virgin at 37
who cares if he has a son that he didn't actually have in this life??? he doesn't want to deal with ANY of that and he FROWNS loudly at Gilgamesh as he decides he's not going to outrightly say that the man is right, draining the glass of wine he's currently holding and clinking it down against the bartop. ]

He's my son from my PREVIOUS life, you--lo stupido. Nox Miller, or rather--Nero, my son from whatever life it was that I had previous to this one.

[ ....he clinks his glass again. ]

Enough! Enough. I've talked enough about my mess. Tell me what you did the last week you've been here.

I refuse to shave years off of you because I refuse to be alone in the 'not under twenty-five and therefore, not a fetus' club.

[ he snickers at Vergil's estimation of his father--but before he can respond, the next part of what he has to say sinks in and Vergil gets so pissy he actually swears at him in Italian, and Gil can't help but laugh, bright and joyful, his pupils narrowing to slits and he gives the shittiest shit-eating grin he'd given yet tonight... as he fills Vergil's glass again as it clinks away at him. ]

So I'd still win the wager by technicality. My luck remains impeccable.

[ though maybe he'll take mercy on Vergil, for the boon of having set he CEO up to win his imaginary bet. ]

Nothing so exciting, unfortunately. I encountered those odd thing-spewing flowers and they gave me three puzzling pieces of junk, one that I've already bequeathed to one of the obnoxious people of this city. He wanted me to walk one can of terrible looking food sludge to a food bank, of all things--or to spend money on a car. For one can.

Yes, well. I am partway convinced that you are, in fact, part immortal vampire or some sort of otherworldly being due to the fact that you are my age and look about the same as you did as when you were in your twenties.

[ laugh at him all you want, just because you have good genetics and probably won't age for another 30 years doesn't mean you can just sit there with a shit-eating grin on your face, sir ]

...If you feel inclined to donate food to a food bank, I would hope that it is more than one emasly can of food. Walking in with one can and laying it on the desk and then walking it out seems...

Like something an asshole would do.

[ ...he swore. time for more wine. ]

[ oh, he preens over the praise, yes, call him pretty in such loquacious ways. ]

You should see my mother. She's a goddess in mortal form, what's where all of this comes from. And also why I'm blond and pale despite having been born in Iraq.

[ he will continue to grin like the bitch he is--it only gets worse when Vergil agrees with him. ]

Exactly! So then either I'm trapped adding more cans to my sludge collection so I don't look like a complete prick, or I'm roped into looking like an asshole and spending all that money on travel, and either way I don't win.

[ the wine is waiting for you, Vergil. ]

My own flower adventures, beyond the Schroedinger's Social Faux Pas Can, simply ended up with me the proud owner of... some sort of tiny screaming instrument and a hideous ring that does something very, very stupid.

[ he wasn't calling you pretty!!!!!! just!!!! okay maybe he was but it was more a comment on your immortal witch blood and how you don't age anyway he's drinking more wine. ]

I had always wondered about that. Now I have my answer.

[ he waves a hand with a vague amount of dismissal. ]

It would have been best to just leave the can somewhere for someone to pick it up. There are homeless people in every city. ...Or, if I can be so bold to say, just throw it out.

[ he's too drunk and too rich to care right now. ]

Tiny Screaming Instrument can mean any number of things. A harmonica is a tiny screaming instrument. So is a kazoo.

...

I am most curious about your hideous ring.

[ but you could call him pretty tho. go ahead. tell him he's a pretty boy. he's the prettiest boy you know. ]

Indeed. I'm cursed with such beauty, but it is a burden I bear with some measure of grace. [ he's so breezy. and smug. like an asshole.

Vergil continues to agree with him, and any seeds Takame might have sown for Gil to not be a rich douchebag are immediately routed. ]

That's what I wanted to do, but no, he made the effort of walking over to the front of this hotel to take it from the bench. I almost hope someone stole it before he got here, but I'd likely be blamed for it.

[ he's not drunk enough but he is too rich to care just in general. ]

It's a middling-sized music note with a little face. If you squeeze the cheeks, it screams until you let go. It's rather disconcerting.

...

You would want to see the ring. You don't want the ring, Mr. Vittore.

[ but he'll reach into his pocket all the same, and pull it out, laying it on the table between them. it is an ugly little thing, being that it looks like a possum. ]

[ your head doesn't need to grow three sizes ]

Some measure of grace, mm? Graceful as un pavone.

[ he scoffs a little, letting his head once again rest on the bartop. its cold on his cheek and he likes it. ]

You just... put it outside. On a bench.

[ okay now he's gonna fucking laugh.
he's straight up chuckling, even though he's doing his damn best to Reign It In. ]

...Hold on, the item you got that's musical...

I.
I believe that is called an otomotone? Those are awful little beasts, that needs to go in a bin as well.

[ he's reaching for the ring, though. Looking at the... stretched silver metal, the beady little inlaid red rubies for eyes. It's... detailed as hell, like a long possum that's holding onto the curled end of its own tail. ]

This is the single ugliest ring I have ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on.

[ yes it does, how else will it contain all of Gil's massive brain? ]

I have no idea what you just said, but I'm going to assume it was terribly complimentary since you're guzzling about $200 worth of Prosecco on my dime.

[ he smirks at the mention of the bench, his eyes crinkling as Vergil has a healthy chuckle, propping his chin up on his hand again. ]

Well I wasn't going to stand there for some rude internet nobody to encounter. He specifically said he didn't want to see me as well.

[ a shrug, listening intently as Vergil scorns his otomotone, smirking as Vergil condemns the beast to hell, and then is incredibly taken by the ring. it's such an ugly, ugly ring. ]

It summons a possum if you wear it.

[ blunt ]

I called you a pavone. A peacock. Which, if I'm honest, I doubt you'd find an insult in being called such.

[ god its just 200$ he'd spend that on a day trip to an armani store buying two shirts its whatever man ]

Hm. His loss, I suppose. As I mentioned before, many people on the Libra app have personalities that are much left to be desired. [ his head feels swimmy.

he tries to lift it again.
to stare.
at gil. ]

It summons a... what? Topo? ...Toditrice?

[ he holds up the ring that... looks like a big rat. ]

Peacock isn't an insult. It means you think I'm beautiful, resplendent, and have good taste in clothing.

[ he smirks at that last bit, watching as Vergil tries and fails to reinsert himself into the land of the people who aren't flat on the countertop of the bar, fiddling with the possum ring. ]

I don't know what you're saying in your tomato language, but it's a big... vermin of some sort. About this long, this wide. Very prone to screaming, but if I were a possum summoned from only the gods know where to wherever a ring like this is, I would also have some measure of existential crisis.

Being summoned by anything sounds awful.

[ ... his head feels weird. he rubs his temple and gives it a shake to clear it, eyes narrowing a little. ]

Are you able to continue drinking, or should I put you to bed to sleep it off?

Easy to pick out of a crowd, ready to show off at a moment's notice, and loud without even having to open your mouth.

...

Colourful too. I. I have no idea where you get half your clothing that just screams at me from the other side of the room.

[ okay, he might be a bit drunk now, and he's waving his hand a bit at the other as if it'd help him stop running his own mouth. ]

No accounting for your screaming rodent ring now, either. Throw it out a window, that thing is likely cursed.

...[ he looks at his wine glass. ]

I think I am finished.
I cannot tell if there is any drink left. Which I think is a sign.

Just because some of us are prepared to thrust ourselves onto the stage of life and take command doesn't make us foolish creatures, Mr. Vittore.

I'll send you links to the shopfronts I peruse. You could use some color in your life.

[ he smirks as Vergil flails a little and mostly flops and does a whole lot of not being vertical, giving him a look that could almost be mistaken for pity. ]

You don't want to meet my new possum companion before I put you to bed?

[ he stands, slowly, the only sign that he's also been drinking--glancing at Vergil's glass and reaching out to take it and then empty it in one good swoop, smirking when he licks his lips and sets the glass down. ]

It's empty now. Can you turn yourself around without falling?

[ he's gonna make his way over to the Vergil side of the bar, and the Vergil occupied seat at the bar. ]

[ he is going to watch, with somewhat widened eyes as Gilgamesh just. grabs his glass and downs it like its the easiest thing in the world. Finally lifting his head to sit up straight and properly--looking every bit like a man who isn't so drunk that he can't move, but... ]

You have had just as much as I have. And yet you are still standing and talking like you had not imbi.
Imb.

[ Hm. English is getting harder. ]

I don't want to see your rat.

Likewise, I will not fall if I turn around. That much is simple.

[ .........however. ]

I realise, I think my legs have already decided they are done for the night.

[ it'll take a lot more than four, five glasses of white wine to make Gil slosh about; someone who knows his habits might catch that he's got a hand on the bar countertop for balance but for the most part he makes it look effortless. ]

You need to better develop your liver, Mr. Vittore.

[ he smirks brightly as he gives up on the word and grouses about magic rat rings, studying Vergil for a moment as he quickly problem-solves in his wine-moistened brain. ]

Well. Either you walk with me supporting you, or I give you the piggy-back ride of complete inebriation. The choice is yours.

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