[Vergil certainly isn't one to tip his hand easily. In fact, secrecy has been the key to his survival for most of his life - from tilting his hat against Barbas' network of spies and CCTV, hacking to cover his digital fingerprints and wearing gloves to hide his physical ones, and never, never using his Nephilim powers where anyone might be able to see, to sense, it's been a life-long strategy. And it's a life-long strategy that has worked, immeasurably well.
In this new place, it's known that he is Nephilim, but only known to those from whom he couldn't conceal that fact, and Vergil has no intention of letting slip, not so soon, without having a clear and accurate vision of exactly what kind of situation he's dealing with here. However, that doesn't mean he isn't willing to help, to put in some effort on behalf of his new, and hopefully temporary, home.
So he exposes what he can afford to expose, and can be found close to the wall, near the damaged part of the wall, a tablet across his knees, eyes downcast and slightly narrowed as he taps furiously on the screen with glove-clad fingers. Pausing, he tilts his head to the side, cracking his neck, and exhales a sound like relief.]
Bingo.
[Glancing up, he makes eye contact with whoever is closest as a force shield snaps into existence only a few inches from where he sits, and the sound of the creatures on the other side of the fence rises to a squealing thumping. Raising one brow, Vergil remains far more calm than someone posing as a civilian tech nerd ought to in the face of such a sound.]
Are you here to help cover the breach?
Ⓥ ghosts from the past
[Accustomed as he is to the occult and the presence of demons, Vergil doesn't flinch much at the appearance of the ghosts. They're almost blasé, and he goes about his business as usual - gets coffee and reads the news, checks out some shops, does his work.
It barely registers until he sees her out of the corner of his eye, a woman flickering in and out of existence, her red hair the only thing in colour, cascading around her shoulders, her eyes glowing a pure, agonizing white. He can feel them almost as much as he sees them, and he has to avert his eyes.
His mother.
It's distracting enough that as he's walking away from her, head slightly down, avoiding looking at her, he bumps into someone passing by on the street.]
Pardon me. I should've been looking where I was...
[A pause, and he looks over his shoulder, expression going slightly concerned for a moment. She's still there, following behind him, eyes on him.]
...where I was going. Can I make it up to you?
Ⓥ friendr
Friendr
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» Age: 20s » Seeking: allies » Preferences: n/a » Interests: computers, the occult, revolution » Bio:The oblique paradox of propaganda is that the lie in the throat becomes, by repetition, the truth in the heart. - John Grierson
vergil Ⓥ dmc: devil may cry (reboot)