idolpro | Vergil's heart game r2

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Vergil's heart game r2

You feel weak, your body won't move no matter how you try, and you are falling, away from everything you know and love. Away from everything you need to accomplish. If you could just reach out, maybe you could hold on to it, claw your way back. But it's a useless endeavour, you fall unconscious, and your mind goes blank except for poetry and a familiar voice.

O mother Enitharmon, wilt thou bring forth other sons?
To cause my name to vanish, that my place may not be found,
For I am faint with travail,
Like the dark cloud disburden'd in the day of dismal thunder.

My roots are brandish'd in the heavens, my fruits in earth beneath
Surge, foam and labour into life, first born and first consum'd!
Consumed and consuming!
Then why shouldst thou, accursed mother, bring me into life?

You wake on the ground in a cave, cold, wet, and sticky. It smells of rotting flesh. Your objective is clear, but you can't recall a name or face. Nothing else about your memory of him is changed, but for some reason the name "Vergil" just won't come to you, and you couldn't describe how he looks if your life depended on it. But at least your body starts to respond to your will, slowly regaining enough strength to carry on.

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As for the report, book after book is filled with notes on various inventions. Most are weapons or new ideas for artificial demons, all are suitably machiavellian. He's very passionate about his work, maybe you'd get along with him if he wasn't plainly Extremely Evil.

But there are quite a few of these dedicated to a particular study, the captured son of Sparda, trying to steal his skills and break his will enough to overtake his mind and body... The contents would be familiar to anyone who saw Vergil's memories. But he's never referred to by name, it hardly even treats him like a living being. When it does use a name, it's Nelo Angelo.

[He's happily fascinated for a while. Though the Machiavelli report is less happy. Still engrossing, despite the subject matter, and he reads it all even if if it's gross.]

How to keep a nerd distracted from all the feelings in a heart: give library.

But when you get to the blue leather, when you take any of these books, you feel a rush of foreign thoughts and feelings. Though they belong to someone else, for a moment, you feel them for yourself.

You have your own thoughts and feelings, as it should be, but when you touch the book suddenly they're gone. Not even replaced by others, they just....aren't. You are only a shell, almost catatonic, just waiting to be told what to do. Except for something buried deep down behind plenty of mental blocks, some more insidious than that, magic in origin. This something sinks its claws into your mind when you start to notice it, whispering to you that this isn't right. You are not this, you're --

But you don't know what or who. You've started to scream from the visceral anguish of trying to remember, maybe guarding yourself from further pain if you did recall.

But you do come back to yourself shortly, left standing with that book just as you were. Its pages are all damaged beyond any recognition. You might make a word out here and there, but it looks like an animal shredded the insides while leaving the cover untouched.

You gain +1 Perseverance. Looks like the one Emet took managed to make its way back on the shelf. There are still many more of these type, too. You're probably nosy enough to go through each of them, huh.

[It takes him a few moments to recover, shuddering, carefully putting that back.

And then yes, he's nosy enough to go through the other journals too.]

It's so frustrating. Any time you're reminded that you aren't like everyone else here. Even the other inhuman ones. Most of them might as well be, it's plain to see even they think you're an idiot just because you don't know how these things work. You don't care about fitting in, but you already feel so out of place. Being shut up indoors sets you on edge, immediate fight or flight. Stifling too, just like being kept in this human shaped body that feels too tight for what you really are. Or should normally. Now it isn't even there in the background, an important part of you missing that you've so relied on. Even the sword you carry everywhere anyway doesn't feel the same. Those missing feelings are like a void in your very being.

You just hate this. Not being yourself, having to navigate interacting with people and suddenly having to adhere to human expectations and basic needs. Every time someone makes a big deal about how you don't care about food, or that you don't bother cleaning blood off yourself. It just makes you feel more other. Like you have to pretend just so they won't give you a hard time. Or because someone made something for you so you have to be polite enough, but that you don't appreciate it just makes you feel badly about that on top of being out of place. Why should you have to act a certain way just because it's normal to everyone else?

And another...

You are manually breathing. And doing so is a monumental effort, each rattling in your chest like your lungs are full of holes. Your whole body feels about the same, the parts you can feel. Your legs, for one, are entirely numb. But as much as it hurts, physically, as if you can track the ruin as it happens, the pain isn't the problem. The sense of being not only helpless but utterly degraded is what keeps your heart beating and motivates you to struggle through each laboured breath. You know that you are at death's door, it feels as if you just crawled right out of a grave in fact.

But not like this. You can die later, but absolutely not in such a sorry state, in some gutter, without acknowledgment, without any sign you ever existed.

You gain +1 Perseverance. Do you need this now? Maybe. Good thing you're nosy. How about another?

You want to fight so bad. But it can't just be sparring as everyone suggests, that might satisfy some need for activity, but that isn't the kind of violence that calls to you. What you need is the excitement of life or death, how can you settle for less when that's the only fun you knew for so long? And when it's not just a personality trait, it's just in your bones. That seeing weakness and blood makes your blood boil. And the intoxicating feeling of the power it gives you.

Okay that's a big wall of text for this comment. Continue?

[He has to lean on the bookshelf a moment, is he still floating? No he's actually standing now, reading and floating is for less emotional things. He does put the journals back, breathes, and picks out the next ones.]

You can hear a man sobbing, and you just want to make it okay. But you don't even consider that you're the problem and will only make it worse before another is saying your name with such venom in his voice, and you feel bullets in your body. Physical pain is meaningless, but realising what you've done and how badly you've hurt all your dearest friends is absolutely terrifying. You've never hated yourself so much, and you never want to be around another person again.

Why would you think you can help anyone you love when you've never managed it before? Of course you only harm them, that's all you're good at. After all, you're a demon and unsocialised, just a cruel, selfish fool, you don't even know how to be good to another person. This is what you get for trying to fight your nature.

Emotional stuff sure is rough, huh, Lahabrea. Is it weird when it's about you?

Suddenly, you have the sensation of being stabbed by multiple blades. Again and again and again, it doesn't stop, usually in your torso but sometimes one strays to an arm or thigh. You want to scream for help but nothing comes out. It hurts so much - but not nearly so much as the searing pain in your heart and mind that tells you: you're too weak to protect your family, look how you can't even protect yourself. You want to save them, but you're the one who needs to be saved. And that's why no one is coming. Why would anyone ever help you? Why would anyone ever love you? So useless, so pathetic. If no one is going to save you, then don't bother wasting your breath calling for help. Just do it on your own, everything on your own.

You gain +1 Perseverance.

Naturally the next one goes with it.

You're not sure where you are, or quite how you got there, you must have passed out. But you're afraid, and cold, and sore, and very, very alone. Tears start to well up in your eyes and you croak a single word through them, "Mom--" but you remember that's stupid. You can't think about that life anymore, they're dead, but you're alive, and there's no one to rely on but yourself.

You gain +1 Perseverance. There's still more...

[It's a little weird!

Mostly it's... Sad.

He strokes the book covers as if he could soothe the emotions inside, even as his own heart aches.

Eventually he puts those back and reaches for the next ones.

Vergil can't complain that he's looking at everything. After all, Vergil belongs to him, body, mind, soul, heart. This is all things he wants to understand.]

He really can't complain. Maybe he'd rather be there for it, but...if anyone's going to snoop this hard, at least it's someone he's given his actual soul to. Who reaches into it plenty already to see his feelings. This is just a bit more pointed.

Here's one you talked about recently, so at least it's not a surprise.

This is...a melancholy sort of feeling. Bittersweet. You're happy, very happy, when even a little joy is foreign to you. But you feel superfluous. An unnecessary addition that would change nothing if you weren't there. It's alright, because you're just glad to be included, and watching your closest friends (the first friends you ever had in your life, in fact) talk and enjoy themselves together warms you. You would do anything for them, that this place will make their happiness falter at all makes you want to tear it all down with your own hands. That anyone wouldn't see just how amazing they are, would stand in their way, say awful things about them or try to kill them -- that sets your heart and mind ablaze with the need to protect them at all costs. Downright obsessive, volatile.

But it remains in the back of your mind, that you don't really matter in this equation. Logically you know they care for you, it isn't a lie. But what do you offer? You are normally proud of your mind, but next to them? Such lofty aspirations you want to be part of, but nothing you can do. They work hard together, constantly, and you...read poetry. You want to impress them so badly, earn their praise and approval, prove you're just as useful, intelligent, powerful... But they really don't need you. Not for your skills, and certainly not your companionship. They have each other, after all. What space do you fill for any one of them that another doesn't do better?

It hurts, every time one of them smiles. You could almost cry, knowing how important they are to you, while you will never be the same to them. ...That's fine, you're still happy. You've never been first to anyone anyway, and you've hurt them too much to be so precious. It just makes everything sting a bit.

You gain +1 Perseverance.

It feels like you haven't laughed in years upon years, not just hyperbole but that you truly haven't felt an ounce of joy. Hardly even spoken to another person in all that time. But you hear a woman's laugh, and you can't help laughing in turn. Such a foreign thing it comes out strange and almost hoarse. This stirring of forgotten things hurts. It's easy to be alone and unhappy when you can't realise that you're miserable. Not so easy when even a small amount of happiness makes it painfully clear.

Then there's the feeling of a hand on your arm, and it seizes your heart. This is...dangerous. You shouldn't be feeling anything. She can't possibly actually care, and even if she did you can't have that weakness, pathetic human emotions. But there's a part of you that desperately wants to believe she does, that you matter to someone, and that you could protect her.

Still, you know that isn't the case, and you have to get out before it's too late to push your emotions back down.

And the next, do you even realise it's about you? It's not terribly obvious, but you're smart, you can figure it out right?

You feel a kiss on your forehead, and are left shocked and confused. You don't know how to react to it, if it was just about anyone else you might stab them. In this case though - kissing this man properly crosses your thoughts. And you promptly crush that notion. Push it to the furthest corners of your mind and decide not to ever consider it again or explore that line of thought.

Then there are arms around you and it's even harder both to push the idea away and to know how to handle this. Every muscle in your body tenses, you want to run. But you're so sick and tired of being without a shred of affection. You also want to hang on for dear life and never let this sensation stop.

You're almost through them now, just a few more.

[Is it silly to hug books? He will hug them anyway. Kissing each as he puts them back.

So bittersweet, with such fear and longing. What is he supposed to do about them in here but acknowledge them? Yet he cannot abide some of it. Eventually he will find a way to deal with that.

For now, the next books.]

There's the pain of wounds from battle, and the high of excitement fighting brings. Enjoyable as it is infuriating at the moment. Mostly you're frustrated that others are trying to get in the way and stop it, needlessly protect you.

That's not much of a problem. But then your heart sinks when you hear a voice you know to be your son and there's almost nothing else that matters. It's the only thing you can focus on, getting him away, putting yourself between them. You need to protect him, he can't be hurt trying to look out for you.

He's yours, maybe the only good thing you've done, definitely the only worthwhile or lasting thing. Your blood boils when you think of anything happening to him, posessive. You'll destroy anything and anyone that even thinks about touching him.

Something cuts right through your body, chopping you almost entirely in half.

But your son is safe, so you're happy knowing that when you die.

You gain +1 Perseverance.

You feel a thick blade slam right through your gut, but more than the pain you're just confused. You don't know a thing about yourself except that the one attacking you is supposed to be your brother...? That's what hurts, the hatred in his voice, when you were ready to cling to this one scrap of information.

The way everyone else seems to act as if you're equally at fault for this? Even those who seemed ready to offer some answers just a few moments ago, now, what, they're just siding with him? Agreeing that you're just some terrible villain in their lives and won't tell you anything more?

The feeling of rejection and isolation is enough to crush your heart. If they hate you so much, if you're meant to be so awful, then isn't that what you should give them? No point in anything else.

But there's a sense of some small relief at the end, at least one person who tries to comfort after, without coddling. Just easy to be around already.

You gain +1 Perseverance. That one might be hard to tell exactly who it is too, but maybe you'll figure out that it's Five?

And then there's just one more. It shouldn't be anything new with how often you've felt his soul, because it's just full of loving, possessive, desperate, needy, protective, appreciative, fearful, happy and heartbreaking feelings about you. It's not even a memory, it's just everything. More than a bit overwhelming when it just hits you all at once without being able to take in each of those things individually.

[How much perseverance does he have and can he use it not to cry??

No he will just hold these books a while. And like before pet them and hug them, kiss each before setting it back.

Though the last one he does not let go of for a while, leaning his forehead on it and thinking. His eyes may be wet but Hades's mask hides it well enough, probably. And as intense as the emotions are, he almost wants to stop here, go join Hades and hold Vergil as he sleeps.

But instead he will fashion a bird made of fire that conveniently does not burn, setting her to perch on the bookcase. For now to watch over Vergil and Hades, but also this place. Mainly though, to watch over Vergil. A companion as long as the heart allows it, so even when they are gone perhaps he will not be so alone.

He does detour to kiss Vergil's forehead as he sleeps, and Hades's cheek, but moves on to examining the mirror.]

Edited 2021-01-26 03:46 (UTC)

idk like 10? You've got plenty, if you want to use one to not cry then go for it, heart mechanic rules surely will stop any tears! You're a big bad demon! Or something.

The bird is very sweet, as are the kisses, the heart can't exactly speak for Hades, but when you kiss Vergil's forehead, that makes the atmosphere feel just a bit more cozy. The bird's presence too brings a sense of comfort that grows the longer it's there.

The mirror is an oval shape, the frame highly ornamented, and while it only floats about two feet off the ground, it's a good five feet tall. Which makes the image reflected in it quite clear. You won't see yourself or the library in it, but rather another room entirely. Trying to touch it at all will make it quickly apparent this is a sort of portal to the world it shows.

[Nah he won't try not to cry come on he's an emotional old man if he wants to cry a bit on Vergil's feelings books he is gonna.

But I guess it's time to leave his bird watching his loved ones and go step through the looking glass.]

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Vergil's heart game r2

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