fifthproverb | (no subject)

what kind of soup do you like?

[ Ah, yes, the mundane choices of Life After Demon Tree: you still have to go shopping for groceries while you're living in motels while you chase down its root structure. ]

I don't think I've ever given it much thought.

( after enough of a delay that brief contemplation was very much an endeavor to be had: )

What's on the menu?

it's probably best not to think too much about canned soup. not if you plan on eating it.

[ Will is nothing if not patient, but he's also slightly stunned to wait three minutes for what amounts to a texted shrug. ]

chicken noodle, chicken gumbo, cream of broccoli. there's actually more but i figure the shorter the list, the easier this decision is.

that and i'd rather not buy beefy mushroom, unless we're making our own cans. [ The fact that he's going to be making dinner for both of them is now officially implied. ]

Edited 2019-03-28 00:54 (UTC)

From a pot or a can, I'm not so concerned, as long as it's edible. ( even if edible here is only 'halfway edible.' )

I think the most ambiguous thing you have listed so far is beefy mushroom. ( the suggestion from Will is almost too subtle; it's only on the fact that Will points it out at all that snags v on his thoughts, and...intrigue glows like a coal under a fresh breath of air. )

Isn't chicken gumbo original to where you're from? Would you recommend it? ( suddenly, this feels less like a decision on what's for dinner, and something more...personal, now. )

"ambiguous" is the best way to describe the flavor. or maybe "wet dust".

[ Oh. Will had mentioned, once - 'No, back when I was a state police officer - down in New Orleans...' - and hadn't expected it to come up again. It's a small segment of himself, small enough that Will rarely considers it a part of him, and yet it's still larger than any piece he's gleaned of V. ]

it is. i wouldn't recommend storing the rice and the gumbo together, usually, but recommendations are on a different tier when you're microwaving condensed soup.

i'll let you know how it compares. [ Will lets himself take two cans off the shelf and...not resist the slight shiver of memory it brings. ]

I'll be a while deciding whether I am glad that you have the knowledge to know that about beefy mushroom, or if I regret you having had to find out for yourself.

Rice in soup... Could be worse. Could be cream of broccoli. ( sorry, but there is something about that that v doesn't trust about as much as he doesn't trust beefy mushroom. at least, it's main crime is simply blandness. )

When was the last time you were there? New Orleans. You've only spoken of it as a distant thing.

Oh, and, if you could grab something sweet and bready. For afterward. ( dessert. can't blame him, he's thin, and also a taurus. )

i'd go with regret. [ It's the only option when discussing beefy mushroom. ]

the last time i was in new orleans was about two months after i got out of the hospital following an assault from a suspect. [ Will had mentioned the cop thing before. He hadn't mentioned anything more exciting than that. The glaring lights of a supermarket brave enough to still be open - shelves looking thin, though - is a surreal place to be texting this in...

Will must be lonelier than he'd like to think.

Maybe it's the gumbo. ] i moved to DC before i was even accepted at george washington university. i haven't had any pressing desire to visit since.

like pastries? [ Not a request he expected, but one he's more than happy to redirect his cart to go honor. ]

how do you feel about apple squares?

Edited 2019-03-28 02:00 (UTC)

Hey can I ask you a personal question?

[ There's a slight pause which doesn't, you'll note, leave room for a reply, before: ]

Do you wear a shirt under that leather jacket? Because all I can think about is how chafed your nipples must be by now.

I imagine there is no haste in going back, then. Understandably. ( difficult to go back to the places and the things that hurt you, isn't it...

on the topic of serious, painful memories, let's not sully the mood with a jarring segue. )

Apple would have been my ideal choice. I'll trust your judgement for pastry.

( aside from the simple matter of a preference toward apple, v can't help but...appreciate the similarity. a fruit born of a tree. often made the culprit of the great sins committed in the garden, by the first humans. how could he resist the idea? )

everyone's got something they don't feel like visiting again.

any other requests before i bring this to the register?

[ It's a new sensation, checking in about supplies with anyone else. Will hasn't had a roommate in well over a decade, because being alone had been more important than saving money on rent, in grad school. Now, the necessity of it leaves new logistics to be navigated.

New spaces to be reminded had been empty, before. ...And more preferences to balance.

At least they agree on beefy mushroom soup. ]

The man who never alters his opinion is like standing water, and breeds reptiles of the mind.

Sometimes, the painful things are worth revisiting most of all.

You spoil me; I could scarcely entertain a thought more favorable than chicken gumbo soup and apple pastries at this moment. ( only in that v doesn't entertain too much fantasy in his mind: only inspired plans, diligent goals. slow, steady, steadfast.

but for tonight, as he can barely move from his place on the bed — one lone bed, in a hotel with an entire separate wing destroyed, meaning...furniture is a little scarce; sharing is caring — v thinks all he might enjoy at this moment could be some meager, simple food, what clean water is still available, and...to hear and feel the nuanced ambiance of another person simply existing in the same room. that would be satisfying enough. )

( well.

that's one way to start someone's day. )

I do not.

Can I ask you a question, next?

Do you make it a habit to wonder about what goes on underneath my clothes? ( they're like 2% past the mile mark for this conversation to be acceptable. might as well. v mostly imagines Ginny's thorough laughter at the counter, which is all of the inspiration to drive this exchange there. )

my mind hasn't been standing water ever since i started breathing in sync with strangers by accident. or pressing against the plans of other kids on the bus. [ Too much, too-hot thoughts, like gripping the edge of a pot of boiling water when you forgot gloves. It's too easy to snap when he's upset, even over text, but the delay here means he can collect himself afterwards.

V was probably just being his usual contrary self, not actively suggesting Will go back to Louisiana. ] sorry. so. chicken gumbo and apple pastries.

i'll be back soon. [ Will has quite literally never typed those words in his life. Not to anyone. The realization is enough to have him blinking in over-bright indoor lighting.

Paying for groceries-for-two is similar enough to groceries-for-one in action, so it must just be Will's awareness that makes the bags feel heavier.

At least cars still work in this strange new world - Will's got his own still, and he drops the agreed-upon groceries (plus bread rolls) into the passenger seat before returning to the motel. It's not far - never is. They don't travel long distances away from each other - V because he says Will needs the protection, Will because he agrees and also a creeping concern about V's...stamina. Will's not a demon familiar, maybe, but at least he has thumbs, unlike everyone else at V's beck and call.

There's going to be another sudden ping to V's phone. ]

i left the room key with you. [ And right after: a knock at the door. ]

[ Congratulations, you've won! Ginny cackles at her phone, delighted that the tease is accepted and then passed back. ] Only when my nipples scream in compassion.

Better question: of all the guys to NOT wear leather sleeves...why is it you, beastmaster with the falcon constantly landing on his arm? [ Clearly they're also like 2% past the point where Ginny can make sense of his clothes. She dresses to be comfy and to fit in with the general impression of what her job entails! Which, okay, maybe V's dressing to look like a goth poet. That's. Fair. ]

Oh and!

Saw this and thought of you. 💕

[ attachment.jpg ]

Edited 2019-03-29 14:59 (UTC)

( this is becoming the way between them: v says so little, and Will says so much. they come away like peelings of a painting, stylistic in detail and stark in their images. v feels as though he could glance at these fragments and know they were Will, immediately.

they've only known each other shortly, it's their second week traveling together now, but quickly, even in shared quiet of motel rooms, they're all that each other knows now.

Will helps v understand nuances that he had never known as Vergil. once he had resolved to forge his own path, he had rejected much of the human world where he could — the sight of humans enjoying things and living their lives had sickened him, so of course he abstained much from anything frivolous. now, v engages with anything around him with a calm curiosity. he's been reading the Bible in the bedside table, which rests on Will's side of the bed. the television's out.

keeps him from being too distracted, when his phone chirps to life again. he glances at the screen, lit and announcing the soundless words Will has added. )

One moment.

( it seems almost ridiculous to text a reply, when the door is right there—

it takes v a few moments, rolling off of the bed, taking his cane, and moving tiredly to the door. he doesn't have to rest his weight into the assistance, rather, he has to pin the carpet to keep his balance up, and his direction to the door straight.

he pads over on bare feet and no coat, shirtless, to unlatch the metal lockings on the door. he pulls it open for Will, stood fully out of the way. )

I wondered why you left the key. ( he had noticed it on the dresser not ten minutes after Will left. )

[ It would seem ridiculous and a little bit like a way of intentionally drawing out suspense, from just about anyone else. Possibly even from V, who likes his dramatic timing and quotations and calm steady observations. It's alright - it means they're an oddly mismatched but evenly-weighted pair. It goes together not like things built to work in sync, but in the way of two separately-manufactured tools that work towards the same goal.

Dissect. Analyze. Survive.

Wax a bit too much poetry and earn a side-eye from the cashier. You know, normal human experiences. ]

I didn't know if you'd need it to get back in. Getting ice, or something from the vending machine, or... [ 'A walk' might go there, for someone else - or even V, if he hadn't expressly stayed back to rest. Will offers a shrug, not wholly uncomfortable, in its place.

He's got just one bag, courtesy of being just rude enough to interrupt a well-intentioned bagger's process of spreading six items into three bags. It swings heavily against his legs as he steps in past V, taking in and summarily dismissing the lack of shirt. They've largely been sharing beds - in the five motels they've used so far, only one has had two beds available in any halls left standing - Will's less blind to it and moreso not bothered.

Something metallic hits something else, in the bag. Ceramic, apparently - Will's put the bag on their shared dresser and takes out two wide soup mugs. Matching colors, an off-kilter green that was probably supposed to look soothing and high-end. It mostly looks slightly ill and very much manufactured for a cheap chainstore supermarket to carry for last-minute shoppers who don't want to buy dishes in an actual store.

So: these two temporarily-homeless idiots. ]

Still too hot? [ Asked without looking up from the can opener he's pulling out next. V had mentioned earlier; had dismissed a concern that he was developing a fever with an, 'I don't know that I would have the energy for that. It's only that I...tend to run warm.'

What, exactly, causes a human to control demon familiars while being simultaneously weak and deceptively, shockingly strong hasn't been explained yet. Will hasn't pressed any further than has been necessary just to feel out where the boundaries lie. Being told he runs warm had been possibly the least inexplicable part of the past eleven days. ]

Edited 2019-04-02 00:41 (UTC)

( v might have accepted genuine, human forgetfulness — not to suggest that Will is ever so thoughtless, but he is occasionally weary, or...caught. in his thoughts, in himself, in the moment, from time to time. v has watched it in Will's face, like the rising of the sun or the fading of the moon in dawn.

no, Will isn't thoughtless; he instead exhibited an abundance of thought, admitted in his reply. v watches him as he takes the explanation in, mulling over it like a curious bauble handed over: worth immeasurable to a novice eye, but one must wonder, is this novice deserving of this worth?

he shuts the door behind Will, the scorching evening sun carved through with an instant darkness, replaced with the antique glow of twenty year old lamps sitting bedside and on the small, circular table holding their microwave pushed into a corner where it doesn't quite fit. they often tick the light in the bathroom on, for added illumination. )

...Thank you. ( is v responding to Will's answer just a few beats late, or is he remarking on the effort his roommate's just completed, running essential errands for the both of them? really, can't it be for both?

v moves with more than a patient speed. his sauntering is sluggish, leaning almost drunkenly into his cane. if he weren't so lucid and reactive, it might just seem so, and if he weren't moving with care, he might appear unbalanced.

he pauses, just short of Will's left shoulder, coming to look around his arm at the haul he's returned with. instead, v looks at the side of the man's face; the question he levels at him comes unexpectedly. )

Not quite. Not...now. ( he had, before, after showering especially. the cold water had been welcoming, but it was only a temporary reprieve. )

For the moment I've started feeling—

( no. he doesn't want to say more about it. the wavering at times, the quaking in his muscles — v doesn't want to think too much on it. at times, he's better, and at other times...it feels like losing control. like losing power.

it's a hot, sick flash up his chest, in his throat. a flare of panic. of all the things, v smiles, to himself before angling the look in Will's direction, letting him catch its dim, ultraviolet glow. )

...I'm sure I'm ready to eat. Doctor's orders. ( Will's orders. 'you'll need to eat something, more than just trail mix and beef jerky, if you want to keep your strength.' hey, v would love to break up the monotony of salted meat and off-brand m&ms mixed with peanuts and raisins. he hasn't admitted it yet, but he isn't fond of the raisins.

he also hadn't admitted to eating most of the m&ms by himself. )

Edited 2019-04-02 01:52 (UTC)

[ It's not just general politeness that means Will hadn't asked about the cane immediately. It's the fact that Will has to actively guard what he can of others', for his own sake as well as theirs. It's too easy to get stained with details he hadn't tried to access - on the rare occasion he would have to ask for information, Will weighs that option carefully.

Asking hadn't seemed necessary until the fact that they might literally need to run from demons had become abundantly clear. V had responded with characteristic vagueness, a diplomatic non-answer suited for politics - or poetry - and he's demonstrated surprising strength since then.

Just with pockets of...this. An odd exhaustion, a shakiness that Will can't help but notice. The quieter they are about it, the louder the echoes sound. Will glances over, just barely, when V sounds like he's about to share something. The silence earns him another, more noticeable glance.

Will's gaze goes from V's face - suddenly looking just a bit paler, just a little more oddly flushed at the very edges of his cheekbones, almost too shiny at his forehead even in the low light - to his hand (tremors) - down further, to bare feet. Will doesn't see people undressed often, and in this context it feels sexual not at all but intimate enormously. This is sharing a living space, an intrusion that can't be forgotten as easily as one-night stands.

Will clears his throat and starts cranking open both cans. Bachelor's instinct of preparing everything himself means he doesn't ask for help, or move aside to let V so much as attempt to prepare his own bowl or unpack the rest of the bag. ] Good.

It should be ready in... [ let the chef of the evening read the back of this can's label, first ] two minutes. Here— [ Will's popped the first mug of soup into the microwave and hit one of the automatic buttons. Now, he fishes out the bag of rolls and, freeing one from the bag, places it on a napkin and hands it to V. ]

I know you wanted bread for dessert, so hopefully this isn't overkill.

[ There's an odd shyness that wells, as he passes the food over. Will's eye contact is abruptly interrupted by him busying himself with preparing his own mug to go into the microwave next. ]

( Will has a stare that cuts like a scalpel, from time to time — precise, sharp, deep, but...painless. being peeled open doesn't always mean being ripped apart. when Will looks him over, it's passively investigative: curious, concerned, and taking stock. v can't hide, out in the open as he is, standing beside Will. he's subject to his incredibly intuitive judgment, at all times.

but there is something incredibly forgivable and appreciable in the man: that he will dissect a person, and still choose to press on, without argument. 'Good.' and that's it.

because Will knows what he can and cannot do. he knows he can warm a bowl of soup. he knows he can't do more than that, right now, thus he works with what he has, now. the similarities in tactic is striking.

therefore, admiring, if not a little relieving. v's gaze ticks down and watches what Will busies his hands with, the smallest of smiles clinging to v's lips. it's respect, isn't it? that's what shines here, in this dark pool, down at the very bottom of it.

that shyness isn't hidden either, not when passing over a modest bread roll on a napkin. v's smile deepens as he lifts his free hand up to take it, amused well by the strangeness of the interaction. v might not have thought anything of it odd if WIll weren't suddenly more jagged, his gaze almost (almost) nervous. )

The only sort of overkill I know by personal reference involves fiends and goblins. ( v lifts the round of bronze-skinned bread for emphasis. ) Not exactly the same realm as monsters. I imagine...it will be just fine.

( in fact, as v turns to step over to the foot of the bed, the end most-directly facing Will, he thinks if the bread lasts through warming both of their dinners, v will be surprised. by time he's sitting, he's already taken an unabashed bite for himself.

a thought has captured him, though, as he watches Will's back, the shifting of his shirt as he moves, filling soup mugs with soup and water from a bottle. he waits until he's swallowed down his mouthful before carefully offering: ) ...If I lured you into the tangled wood of nostalgia earlier — I apologize.

[ There's a seriousness to V that's never quite stagnant, only still. Will watches him sidelong, head turning just enough to be certain he's going to make it to rest back on the bed before Will goes back to...

To food preparation. Simple to the point of feeling it warrants an apology, or would if they hadn't been eating out of foil and crinkling bags the past week. This is warmer than trail mix and smells like...

Will opens the microwave on a dubious scent-memory just as V offers up an apology. ]

Nostalgia suggests it was worth missing. [ Braced bitterness in his tone. He stirs the soup, brings the spoon out to press the edge of a bent knuckle against it to check the temperature - still chilly. Back in the microwave. ] And...if it was worth missing, you wouldn't need to apologize.

Unless you weren't anticipating the conversation to get-- personal. [ Which is unlikely, but not impossible. V is smart, but not always the best at predicting people. He lacks the depth of intuition that Will has, or even the baseline trust that Will's seen in a few observant others. It's possible that V didn't think Will would trip up in his own memories at a mild prompting...they don't know each other that well yet, after all. V wouldn't know to anticipate how bad Will really is at compartmentalizing.

Will's been stirring the waiting mug of cold soup too long. He has to force himself to put the spoon back down, open the microwave a second time.

...Warm enough, now. ] Here.

[ It doesn't even occur to him to hold it out and expect V to come back over. Will brings the mug right back over to V, the dragging tendrils of renewed tension not lost but not as important as handing over dinner. ]

( from here. )

I wasn't aware that demon pacts and sulking were mutually exclusive. ( said almost as if he doesn't believe that for a moment. )

I believe it would depend on the weapon. There are builds for rifles with little kickback involved. It isn't really my style, but as Nico so eloquently put it, 'I reckon being dead ain't so in fashion either, considering how much you're trying to fight it.' I think she has a point.

Are you hurt, Nero?

There's no sense in downplaying things. Hardly means you're lacking. ( take it from the guy who has to use a cane or a bird to get around. )

Between the two of us, I think we can get you covered for a gun. Lucky for you, most gun metals are black to start with. Can carve some quote in the side for you and everything

I told you I'm fine [ He already lied once, V, why do you need to make him lie again?!

And yet V's a persistent guy - would have to be, to stick around despite whatever his health-deal is - and the offer feels weirdly trustworthy. Nero chews it over while he pays for cookies he's definitely going to nab a handful of. ]

It's mostly healed, I've always healed up fast. It's just that losing an arm isn't really like taking a boot to the face, I guess. I'm not bleeding, so nothing worth changing plans over.

But yeah, fine, it hurts

[ Now that he's got that vulnerability out of the way, let Nero just open the door to the van and announce 'Delivery, sleeping beauty' to...

...an empty van. ]

You gotta be shitting me. Hey, asshole! [ Nero is leaning back out the door of the van, temporarily re-opened. ] I'm gonna eat all these on my own if you don't get back in here!

[ And then he...doesn't shut the door again, just yet. Lingers on the bottom step of it and looks one way and then the other up their current alley they're parked in, because... V's a loner, and sometimes pretty thoughtlessly absent, but he asks for things pretty rarely. It doesn't feel quite right that he'd just bounce afterwards. ]

( receiving a message like this from Nero is...surprising. the expenditure of thought, detail, into this kind of craft. it is his specialty, after all, but that hardly means giving over the effort is necessary. it's...inclusive. one cannot rebuke Newton's third law of motion: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. and, as Blake so sagely remarked once, Without contraries is no progression.

so he should come to expect it, shouldn't he? V might, except that he comes to expect nothing, if it is not something that he sets out to accomplish. that, is so very like that man he used to be...

and there it is, an acceptable admission that didn't really need to be admitted, and above all, Nero didn't owe a candid truth to a guy who just up and walked out without telling him where he was going.

v isn't thinking about it that way, though. )

Nico offered me something for a headache I had a few nights ago. I left the bottle of pills in your 'secondary important shit box.' ( not to be confused with 'the important shit box' most readily available while sitting in the passenger seat, nor the 'sort of important shit sometimes' box.

by the time v is walking up the alleyway back to the van, he can hear Nero's voice echoing down the pathway between buildings, his voice carrying over the quiet. really, one could likely hear Nero's voice in a crowded square if he was only speaking excitedly.

give v another, oh, minute or so. you won't see or hear him coming, but once he's coming right up around the side of the van, you'll see him. )

Ah, good timing. ( nonchalant, pleasant without beaming. Nero, having sat down on the steps in the doorway, bolts up at the sight of him. in v's free, ungloved hand, he's carrying a wax-laden cardboard cup with a nondescript soda logo on it, from either a convenience store, or a gas station, difficult to say. )

Edited 2019-04-09 01:16 (UTC)

[ Nero tells himself that the slight ache under the flash of anger is just more anger waiting its turn. Definitely not a pang of real disappointment, because it's unusual enough for them to have been working this closely together - Nico and him had shot off to help her with her research for his devil breakers, V had stuck around to research the demon tree. There's no sense in feeling any, like, entitlement to someone sticking around.

His phone pings with a text and he nearly throws it - it could easily be code for bye, because V's disappeared with less warning before - and then decides actually, he clearly needs to chill the fuck out. Easier said than done, though. He does not go in yet to scour the secondary important shit box for pills, because he'd probably forget to grab water and end up chewing them, or maybe he'd break the handle off the door grabbing it to re-open it, or--

Or V's gonna just appear out of nowhere, smug and toting a fucking gas station soda cup. Nero doesn't just bolt up, he storms over. ] What the fuck, V. [ He is deeply and emotionally considering beating a man unconscious with his own cane, and arguably all for reasons that exist only inside his own head.

What a time to be alive.

But he sputters a bit here - he can't say why he's actually upset, so he shifts gears at the last second. ]

You're getting your own goddamn milanos next time, if you're doing good enough to be up and getting coke.

( it isn't uncommon for Nero to storm over for any reason at all — he's all fire, and with a breath of wind, his energy can flare up and travel farther than what is easily expected. v stops with plenty of space for Nero to roll up at him aggressively, and even then, he stops almost so short that v might have considered taking one step backward.

also, 'what the fuck, v' is just enough of an indicator that something has ticked him off a little, there.

v is still plenty calm, watching Nero like a cat blandly watches someone crossing a room. his confusion is barely visible, oddly still on his face, giving little more than a firm blink and the flicking of his gaze left and right across Nero's face. )

...This isn't a beverage. ( the cup shuffles hollowly. ) The ice pack you asked about. Indeed, you left it in the front seat. It was well past melted, so I...

( get your phones out now, take your pictures while you can — it's one of those crucially rare moments where v actually falters. it's a subtle thing, but even Nero could easily catch it; he isn't stupid, after all. v looks down at the cup in his hand, as if realizing only now what he'd gone to do... still as stone, statuesque, v stares at the container, cheap and thin and branished in red and blue, almost too flatly until— ) Got you ice. Nico has some clean cloths I think you can use.

( so what mister monologues just did was

ask Nero to hit the store to supply for v's munchies so that he could lounge in the van

hear that Nero's got a sore arm

and upon discovery that sassafras was an idiot and left the only ice pack out for no less than a day

got up off his ass and trekked down to the corner store to grab him some ice

look...v felt compelled. )

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timeline loosely with what we've been playing around with

i. didn't know i needed domestic nonsense until. right. this very moment.

you said 'quick tags' so i decided 'failed domestic endeavors' felt about right

i'm hollerin like that cowboy in the sky

this can might be big enough

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tfln overflow — weightoffmyshoulder

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