throwmoreswords | [ic inbox]

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.

I don't need to better develop my liver. It is not as if I plan on getting drunk often.

[ he has no idea that this is gonna be his first and last time, either--once his demonic blood gets used to the sort of 'damage' alchohol can cause and how to 'quickly heal' it next time.

But. He's gonna make a face. he's gonna make SUCH a face, and try to figure out what it is he wants to do, exactly. His arms folding. His head tilting. A tiny, unhearable sigh escaping past his lips. ]

What a lack of dignity there is in being piggy-backed.
I am still lucid and of myself. I am sure with enough effort and a little support, I will be able to walk. Just lend me your shoulder.

You need to develop your liver. Five glasses of wine is a rookie's number and I'll be damned if someone finds out my favorite antique dealer is a lightweight who can't hold his liquor.

[ poor guy. Gil doesn't know what he would do if he couldn't get pleasantly drunk most of the time

... getting his Servant's constitution back is going to be fucking weird and mildly emotionally devastating. he smirks as Vergil considers his options, giving a little shrug as he comes around to be within easy support range. ]

Suit yourself. Grab my shoulder and let's see the sort of progress we can make, all for the sanctity of your dignity.

I'm your favorite.

[ that's the only sentence he's repeating from that first line because he's not touching the rest. he's not about to develop into an alcoholic--he had a glass of wine with dinner most days and that was more than enough.

But with that, vergil IS going to move to stand up. His usual boots with a very slight heel are definitely working in his favor as he moves to put an arm around gil, and look. he even manages to stand straight. he looks put together. one step, in front of the other.

he almost looks impressed with himself until the third step has him forgetting his leg placements and almost falling forward, almost dragging gil down to the floor with him.

dignified. ]

One of few, certainly. Wear that badge with pride and honor.

[ Gil seems almost fond, if a touch exasperated. Vergil is taller than him, so that might help them at first--Gil's easy to lean on being a few inches shorter, and it's all going to plan at first, they are making good time towards the bedroom and then Vergil's lightweight ass goes whoop and Gil kneels for no man so his legs do a sort of wide pseudo-split as he clings onto Vergil and works to keep him from kissing the marble floors with his pretty, pretty face. ]

All right. I'm vetoing this. You've lost privileges when it comes to your life choices, demon boy.

[ once Gil has them righted, he's going to--well. while he's not a demon with supernatural strength, he is a rich man with a personal trainer and nothing better to do with his day, the muscles aren't wholly for show. Vergil is getting righted and then Gil is going in for the sweep, lifting Vergil up like the Italian principessa he was always meant to be. ]

Arm around my neck. Don't resist, it's futile.

[ They're gonna make it to the bed without falling over, damn it. ]

[ this didn't at all go as planned. not at all. not only did he almost make gil kiss the marble floor, but he'd almost thrown himself down onto it as well. after three steps. ]

Well, this is undignified. [ he hisses between his teeth. demon boy. really?! that's what gil came up with??
he wants to punch him. but he really doesn't have the energy. ]

It is just because I forgot to remove my boots. Walking on marble flooring with any bit of a heel is dangerous.

[ this sentence was brought to you by that doesnt make fucking sense vergil ]

I will allow this, just this once. [ he can pass out and forget this ever happened, that's what he's decided as he fussily puts an arm over gil's neck, every bit like a cat petted in the wrong direction. principessa his ass. this looked ridiculous, you're so much smaller than mr vittore is. ]

No one will know but you, I, and anyone I choose to tell when the mood takes me. [ he's teasing. probably. he's also a lot stronger than he looks, carrying Vergil the rest of the way to the bedroom of the suite, settling him on the edge of the bed with a surprising gentleness for how hard he's been teasing the man, otherwise. ]

Can you manage your boots or should I continue to play nursemaid--rather stunningly, might I add?

[ he steadies his own balance with a hand on his hip, eyes lidded as he waits for either confirmation, a leg up, or for Vergil to crawl for the pillows with what shreds of his dignity are left. ]

Breathe this to a soul and I will find some way to unkindly repay the favor.

[ his accent is slipping a little, as he speaks--words becoming a little messily pronounced as his friend manhandles him rather well down the hall. Which is impressive, given Vergil feels a little less spindly-nerd these days, and has actual meat on his bones. ]

I can manage my boots. [ ....and it's the walking all over again as he moves to try to cross his legs, to grab his... stylish leather boots.
And all he does, instead, is start to contemplate the many buttons and straps that make them up. Forgetting that they aren't some slide-on boot, but rather, a fine pair of leather knee-high things that... take about five minutes to get on. ]

Doubtful. You're a bit too shy to really take revenge, in my experience.

[ it's rather fun, listening to such a composed, controlled man slide through his words, not quite slurring but certainly not running the show either. Gil grins like the jackal he is.

he waits, patiently, for Vergil to manage his boots.

And then continues to wait.

And wait.

And wait. ]

How's the management going there, Mr. Vittore? [ this is his payment in kind for several hundred dollars worth of Prosecco and it's worth every penny. ]

I am not shy to take revenge.
I have done my fair share of petty things to those who have irritated me by buying items out from under me, before.

[ he's contemplating the straps on the side of his boot.
He's started to undo one.

It's a monumental task.
He doesn't remember, does it go out, or in if he needs to loosen it?

.... ]

I could probably sleep with my boots on.
They are clean.

I'm wealthier than you, that's a difficult task to pull on me.

[ he watches Vergil contemplate life and the universe and his fucking boots and tries not too smile too much, one of his knees locked so he also doesn't start swaying unbidden. ]

You are not sleeping on sheets this expensive with your boots, fool. Put your leg up.

[ he's going to take Vergil's boots off like the man is a toddler. Suffer. ]

You don't buy things from under me.
You visit my store and use them and leave, like a customer I actually like having around.
I hate it when people start making bids for my things...

[ ugh.

UGH. No. He's gonna try to hold onto his boot. ]

Why do you care.
These aren't your sheets.
They'll change them to fresh ones in the morning.
Leave me to my devices.

You like having me around, do you? [ he smirks, indulgent, eyes lidded as he narrows in on the thing most likely to fluster Vergil.

and then he reaches down to grab the man by a dainty ankle. ]

You are going to be laying next to me in the bed, and if you kick me with your nice, clean boots, I'm going to take them off you and throw them off the balcony. Make your choice.

If I did not at least somewhat enjoy having you around I would have drowned myself in wine at my own abode.[ he doesn't have that many friends, gil, and theres only so many times you can text your not-dad before it starts feeling clingy.

his ankle is grab.
he complains with a grunting noise, but. He decidedly doesn't kick him off.
the final step is acceptance. ]

These were eight hundred dollars.
Do not put them on the balcony.

Your wine selections are mediocre compared to mine and you know it. [ it's fine gil has no friends and hasn't spoken to his father in years, let alone acquired a father figure

you're doing great honestly sweetie
even if Gil is taking Vergil's boots off and letting them thump at the end of the bed, leaving him in his stocking feet. ]

I didn't say put on the balcony, I said chucked over and given to the streets or the raccoons, whatever would have them first. Get comfortable and lay on your side.

My wine selections are tasteful. Graceful. Something with -ful on the end. Maybe just full.

[ he doesn't want to talk anymore. he's not doing great anywhere, he just wants to sleep. boots off, garish silver and blue houndstooth socks to the world, vergil DOES try to just flop over onto the bed on his back.

he complains as the man orders him to roll onto his side instead.
but he at least listens. ]

Why is it rodents with you.
Raccoons. Possums.
Leave my boots be.

[ he smirks as the man whines about being put to his side, giving a little shrug as he helps him flop up the bed. ]

Yes, yes, I'm terrible and cruel, but if you vomit and die because you've had more to drink tonight than the rest of the sum total of your life, I'm not sure money would save me from whatever's going on with your brother, the bear repellent, and the son you apparently have.

I will do what I please with your boots, and with the rodents. Maybe I'll summon my possum for you to hold onto through the night.

[ he climbs into bed on the other side of the mattress, leaving a comfortable space between the two of them as he pulls his phone out and dims the screen--and upon reaching out to the side table, dims the rest of the lights in the suite until it's just the glittering light from outside the tinted windows illuminating the room. ]

Goodnight, Mr. Vittore.

I will not die. I have too much I have not done yet.

[ the last words he's going to get out before he goes frighteningly still, arms curled up under his head, legs tucked up a little against himself as he gets comfortable in the mammoth bed. Barely even shifting as gil collapses next to him--

and he's out like a light. A quiet, dreamless sleep following, eating away all the flashing, terrible images of the fire, the demons chasing him and singing for his blood.
He won't vomit over your nice sheets or anything, Gil--sleeping almost like the dead, but. He's at least visibly breathing throughout the night. ]

Splendid. I'll see you in the morning, then.

[ and so Gil's vigil begins in earnest; a thought comes to him and he sends a text to a certain newly met twin brother, because while Vergil is startled, he's not completely impolite or against letting people he cares about know what he's up to... which explains why Gil found out about the Auguries move like two months later, natch.

it's going to be a long night, so Gil finds himself fiddling around on his phone to spend the minutes, hours. Vergil is a steady sleeper, so it's likely another hours or two before he finds himself driven to check on the man, hand reaching over to rest fingers on Vergil's pulse, just to make sure his heart was still beating--

he wakes with a start, sweat hot on his neck as the feeling of a mountain crashing down on him subsides around his ears, hand on his chest as he sits up and takes stock of his camp. the embers of the camping fire glitter like rubies in the starlit night, and the shape across from him shifts ever so slightly under its simple white tunic, the green curtain of its hair--

'Enkidu, my friend, did you call for me?' he tries to speak softly, tries not to whisper because he is not afraid, even as he can still feel the rocks crushing his chest, and the shape across from him shifts, head lifting, body rolling so that his soft-faced friend looks to him, rubbing their gold-green eyes to banish the last of their sleep.

'What troubles you so, my king?' and he speaks, then, of his dream, of the sweat that trickles down his back and the unease that's dug into his chest like the mountain he dreamed of crashing down upon his body, and Enkidu smiles, gentle and serene, laying their head back upon their arms. 'A good omen, then. Humbaba will fall before us when we go to clash with him.'

and the fear just melts away in the face of that kind voice, that sweet smile, and he settles back down to rest once more--'

Gil pulls his hand away from Vergil as if he'd been burned, breathing heavily, eyes darting around the room. His chest aches from--from the rocks? From the vision? From the fact that the green-haired being is not here? his head is spinning and it hurts more than a bit. he takes a deep breath and lets it go slow, eyes drifting over to Vergil to assure himself the man yet lives as he tries to think of anything other than what he wants to think of most. ]

[ while vergil is normally a somewhat light sleeper and may well wake up at being touched on a normal day, today, he doesn't. there's enough booze in his system being worked out by his demonic healing factor that he does not, in fact, even budge when touched.

which also means unfortunately, gilgamesh goes through the new vivid memory of his past and his friend all alone.
Sorry, man.
He does live through the night, fortunately--even if gil goes the entire night sleepless with that new memory to torture himself over, the absence of that beautiful green companion and instead the feeling that he will never see the being that made his heart feel whole again in this world.

Vergil wakes up easily, at the wee hours in the morning--having not even slept in an hour past his usual wake up time.
...He hasn't gotten drunk often.
But when he does, he always
Always
tends to sleep in and have a horrible, creaky day the next day due to his infrequent visits to the night before's long hard drink.

And yet. He sits up.

Feeling fresh and free as if he'd gone to bed early the night before.

He's going to hold his face in his hands and make sure he didn't die in his sleep and he feels fine because he's a fucking ghost. ]

[ic inbox] - Kaisou

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