Chapter Text
Fortuna.. 25 years ago..
She’d been following Vergil all morning. Now, late into the afternoon, and much to his annoyance, she was in his peripheral yet again. At first he had rationalized that, well, Fortuna was not very large, so seeing the same person a few times would not be too strange. However, to always turn around, to glance about, to scan the area as a matter of precaution, and to see her, was a clear indication to Vergil that he was being followed.
The people on Fortuna were a decidedly queer folk. Prone to whispers and distrust of strangers. The cult activity there was what drew Vergil to the island in the first place, and he assumed, being an outsider, he could do his research without being bothered. It was all part of his plan. Dante was going by Dante again not “Tony Redgrave,” and soon enough, Vergil would have enough information on one of their father’s most brilliant achievements to put his ultimate plan in motion. All he needed to do was find out what exactly was going on in Fortuna, and what all, exactly, did this cult know about Sparda and the time before he wed the human Eva.
By and large, the Forunites had been giving him the expected wide berth, but Vergil kept seeing the woman in the red dress, just lurking on the outskirts of wherever he was, again and again. While other locals would actively try to avert their eyes and not meet Vergil’s gaze, this woman seemed to crane to get a better look at him. It was unnerving and Vergil liked to think of himself as someone that was not easily shaken. After all, he was 18 and brilliant, the best swordsman who ever walked, and the Heir to the Legacy of the Black Knight, Sparda. No mere human woman was going to unnerve him, not on an island where Sparda once – allegedly – ruled as feudal lord, and certainly not one where a cult that worshiped his father as a god lived.
Growing deeply tired with her antics, Vergil decided to put a definitive end to it. She was a distraction, and she was growing irksome. No one was going to stand in his way, leave of all the human woman of a cult..
Vergil slipped into an alley, looking left and right before ducking into it.
As predicted, the woman soon appeared in the mouth of the alley, and looked apprehensive. Slowly, though, she followed. The alley ended in a dead-end, and the tall buildings on either side had a criss-crossing of laundry lines, loaded down with clothes, that gave the alley a dim, over-cast look. As she advanced, she held her hands clasped close to her chest. She was frightened, her entire body-language conveying how uncomfortable she was, yet she continued to move deeper, almost coming to the very end of the alley, looking around still, wondering where he had disappeared to.
She gasped, a high, desperate sound, when Vergil pressed the tip of his sword to her back and pushed.
“You’re going to stop following me,” he whispered, in the dim light.
“Please,” she whispered back, hands up. “Please, I only –”
“Quiet,” he commanded, pressing harder. If he wanted to, he could spear her through. “Who are you? What do you want? Why are you following me?”
She swallowed, Vergil heard her throat clicked.
“Please,” she said, again. “Please, m’lord, I only wanted to see –”
“See what?” He demanded. He had a niggling feeling that this woman was a spy from the cult, perhaps someone had seen him kill the demons earlier upon his arrival and now sought something from him. Vergil was, after all, the only Son of Sparda actually worth anything.
“See if I could be some use to you,” she said, her tone shifting just ever so slightly.
Vergil scoffed, not kindly.
“What use would I possibly have of – ”
She took a step forward and why Vergil didn’t kill her then and there, he had no idea. Perhaps he was momentarily disarmed by her sheer bravery. Though, as he watched, her hands did shake, slightly, as she turned and faced him, and as she reached up and carefully removed her white apostles’ hood.
She was probably his age, perhaps a little older. Fair of face – as far as human’s went – with a slightly upturned kitten’s nose, large honest honey-brown eyes, and red-gold hair, tied into a demure knot at the base of her neck, the rest of it braided roughly and held over her shoulder. Vergil had tried to glare at her beneath his own cowl, but as he scanned her face, he paused on her lips and found himself interested, even if he’d not admit it to her, in what she was expecting to provide to him.
.. In the years to come, Vergil would chalk up his hesitation in the face of her as youthful inexperience. During his brief stint as Gilver, he had watched with a jealousy and disdain that he’d never admit out loud, as “Tony” had a different companion almost every other night. Girls liked “Tony,” he came to realize, bitterly. “Tony” was roguish, and handsome, and just vulgar enough to be exciting. “Tony,” who could stroll into the bar with an arm around a girl on either side of him, and even after he didn’t call them, or even so much as look at them as more than just a – what had he called it? A “casual lay?” – they’d still come back if he smiled at them or bought them a drink.
No one did that for Gilver. No one did it for Vergil, either, but that was beside the point. Wrapped head to toe in bandages or not, what on earth did “Tony” have that he didn’t? Was it that easy to charm someone? Or was love just not real, as he was coming to suspect?
But all those feelings were brought to the surface in seeing the way that the woman looked at him.
There was sincerity in those eyes. And a kind of butter-soft desire that made him feel strangely young in the face of it.
“I could be of some comfort to you,” she whispered, and the honesty in her eyes made him believe her. “I don’t have much.. but it is a skill I can put to some use, even here. Even now.”
Vergil frowned, catching her drift.
“You’re a whore.” He stated, plainly. He kept Yamato outstretched between them, as if the unarmed woman was an actual threat. He saw that the accusation hurt her, just a little, the way her eyes seemed to shift, to look down at her feet.
“I’m a courtesan,” she attempted, but he scoffed at her.
“And I’m to believe that whores just routinely seek people out? People are meant to come to you, not the other way around.”
“You seem saddened,” she said, boldly. “And I only meant to be of some service.” She swallowed and licked her lips, an action that, Vergil was ashamed to admit, did set some nerves aflame. He had no idea why. Curse this human heritage.. They get aroused over the most foolish, asinine things.. “I could be of some comfort to you. You’re handsome. And young. Better than most here.. And, should you go looking for it, you’ll not find any others. Not like me.” She seemed to tilt her chin, then defiant. “Or, if you really mean to kill me, fine. Do it so I don’t have to starve to death or be outcast into the wilderness for the Sake of Fortuna’s false virtue.”
Vergil felt warm around his neck and he wasn’t sure why. She was beautiful, that much was true, and he was .. lonely.
“How do I know this isn’t some trap?” He demanded. “What do you mean, starve to death?”
“You’re in Fortuna,” she replied. “The Order has grown more powerful in these past few decades, since Father Sanctus claims he foresaw the death of .. ” She seemed to falter. “I shouldn’t say much more, m’lord. I have enough of a target on my back, from being what I am, for being born into the life I have. Powerless and alone, only able to make some semblance of a life by doing as women have done for a millennia, when foolish men believe themselves to know the will of God.”
“For a whore,” Vergil said, conversationally, as he sheathed Yamato. “You are well spoken.”
“I have a name,” she said, soft, but defiant.
“I don’t care,” he replied, flippant and aloof. He happened to look back into those honey colored eyes again and regretted it, looking away as if running from the hope that welled within them.
“You do,” she whispered. “Else, you’d have killed me by now.”
“Don’t presume to know me or anything about me,” he snapped.
But she didn’t flinch.
And Vergil was starting to talk himself into, perhaps, spending the night with her. It was unsavory, he was certain Mother wouldn’t appr—
Mother was dead.
He was an adult, he could do what he pleased, and if Mother was so concerned, perhaps she’d have done more to find and protect him, rather than just get herself massacred while protecting her precious, mewling baby Dante.
“Tony” had spoken about frequenting prostitutes. He had gotten drunk and tried to give Gilver pointers, needless this-and-that about how to pick “a good one.” One that was young and nubile was less likely to have yet picked up a pox, though they may be more expensive. Though, money wasn’t really an obstacle. Besides, she was a courtesan on Fortuna, what on earth kind of price tag could she even call for?
“Very well, whore,” he said, sounding as arrogant as he believed he had a right to be. “But afterwards, you’ll leave me alone. Understand? I’m not here to waste my time with the likes of you.”
.. A part of Vergil, very small, and very young, felt bad about how well the woman took his insults. She must have had her fair share of them in the past and that was mildly upsetting to know. He did his best to quash those feelings as best he could. They were rooted in human sympathy and weakness, anyway.
The woman wordlessly pulled her hood back up, tucking red hair under the cowl. Vergil wondered if she was trying to appear unbothered by his insults, now, as she walked past him, straight backed and square shoulders.
“You’ll need to follow me,” she said, softly. “So as we don’t raise the suspicions of any of the Order’s watchmen.”
Now, as he followed her more than a dozen paces back, Vergil was starting to fear that he had been duped somehow. What if this was a cruel joke? He had been on the receiving end of too many of those to not be wary of the possibility.
But the woman seemed to move with a purpose now, glancing back only every so often to ensure he was still behind her. Vergil had seen some of the Order watchmen she spoke of; they looked like zealous brutes with primitive swords, and they all wore the same white and gold tunic, emblazoned with a sword-like sigil. He had to sneer at them, from under his cloak, as he watched them skulk about, checking for any sign of trouble.
Shows what these idiots know, he thought to himself, as he followed the woman to a more residential area, the streets becoming narrower and the pavement less impressive. Father hated white and gold.. No doubt the cult picked the colors for their implied purity.
The woman lived in a poor district, he decided. Likely the lower working class people on the island could say the same. She slipped into an alleyway again, and Vergil felt strongly he was stepping into a trap. One hand on Yamato’s hilt, he followed her, wondering if all this walking and sneaking was normal for people who frequented prostitutes. Humanity was needlessly complicated, he had long ago decided, and astoundingly stupid.
In the dark of the alley, with the sun starting to dip, he scanned, looking for her, and found her near a dilapidated wooden staircase that seemed to act as a fire-escape up to a third story window.
I’m going to sneak through a window to visit a whore, Vergil thought, dryly. Whoever is in charge of my fate and the humor therein is a cunt.
“It has to be this way,” she whispered, pausing on the steps, looking back at him. “Should anyone know, I’d be cast out. But no one comes this way.. The stairs are too rickety.”
I’m going to fall through rotted wooden stairs, while trying to sneak through a window to visit a whore..
“If this ends up being some kind of trap,” he hissed, following her all the same. “They’ll not find all of you.. Or all of whoever you’re leading me to.”
She chuckled.
Vergil bristled.
A whore was going to laugh at him? Really?
“You’re very mistrusting,” she remarked, softly. “I can’t imagine what you must’ve been through to be so sour.”
Apparently, the window was her normal method of entrance and egress, as there was nothing in front of, nor beside it, inside the small flat that the whore called home. Vergil’s eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly, and to his surprise, no one else was inside. Just a simple, human home, for a simple, human woman. It was essentially just one large room, though Vergil assumed there was a restroom tucked away somewhere.. It’d be incredibly embarrassing if there wasn’t and he wasn’t sure why.
The woman was already moving about the flat, lighting candles as she moved. He hadn’t seen her remove her apostle’s hood, but it was discarded, allowing the light to glint off her hair, and reflect in her eyes. Other than that, she was covered and modestly dressed, the dress, despite being red, was almost puritan looking. Vergil wondered, going off of what she was saying about the cult’s dislike of prostitution, if the red color somehow meant something.
He cleared his throat and reached into his cloak, pulling out a leather poach.
“How much do you cost?” He asked, trying his best to sound disinterested and aloof. She looked at him, from the bed. She was already seated on it, working on the laces of her high brown boots.
“Money is not exchanged until afterwards,” she replied, frankly. Vergil frowned.
“That seems backwards,” he remarked, watching as she reached behind herself, pulling at the laces of her bodice.
“Do you frequent many courtesans, m’lord?” She asked, smiling in a way that made Vergil feel very strange. He bristled.
“I don’t,” he said, though he quickly followed with, “I don’t need to.” That felt like it needed to be said. The woman had taken her bodice off now, threw it aside. She wore an under-blouse, now, and her long skirt, but she didn’t continue to disrobe, sitting back on her hands, regarding him with a curiosity that bordered on innocent. Or, as innocent as a whore could appear.
“I imagine gentleladies and noble virgins throw themselves at you, m’lord,” she said, softly, watching him. Vergil was still wearing his traveling cloak, and beneath it, he was fully clothed, but the way her honey colored eyes went up and down his body. “But here in Fortuna, we live lives a little different. Even when we had more than a handful of courtesans living here, we could never be the type to demand someone pay us upfront. However much you feel I’m worth, you’ll leave on the nightstand. Just like all the others..”
Vergil’s exterior remained icy and cool, but inside, he was unsure how to proceed. He’d never been with a woman, not that he’d ever utter the words out loud. He knew how it worked, of course, he was no fool, but he was uncertain as to how one would judge a sexual experience, let alone priced it appropriately. Could it be that women had the ability to tell if a man was a virgin and used this tactic to fleece them, separate some poor idiot from his money?
The woman sat up, leaned forward and rested her elbows on her legs, hands clasped together as she tilted her head at him.
“.. We don’t need to do that,” she offered, gently. “If .. you’re unsure?”
Vergil bristled again.
“So you just led me here with the promise of services, wasting my time, just to back out and blame me?” He demanded, hoping to assert some kind of authority.
“I could still give you comfort, m’lord,” she purred, starting to undo the rough braid she held her hair in. She glanced at him, coyly, before going back to her work. Something about a woman’s long, loose hair did things to Vergil. He had known since he was an adolescent, and some part of him worried it was because his mother was a famous beauty with long, blonde hair.. He swallowed and, summoning what confidence he had, he strode forward with a purpose.
“Nonsense,” he said, firmly. “We’ll settle this transaction and then I can be on my way without having you following me everywhere I go.” That’s all this was, a transaction. He took, she gave, and the added benefit was, she’d leave him alone. He could continue his research, unbothered. Ultimately, that was his goal and no one, not “Tony,” not time, and not some whore, would get in his way.
Vergil pulled off his traveling cloak and was mildly flattered with how the woman’s eyes widened at getting a solid look at him. He started to pull off his coat, as well, but paused when the woman stood up.
“Let me,” she whispered, boldly coming within his circle. She smelled like soap and wildflowers, and Vergil was put off just enough by her gumption that he paused.
He hadn’t realized how touch starved he was until he felt her fingertips run along the bare skin of his shoulders. His skin immediately prickled with goosebumps and he almost physically shivered, and it was hard to keep his expression disinterested and neutral. She was small, a very dainty woman, and she only came to about his shoulder, if not a little lower. And she was making his heart pound.
Trying to maintain control, Vergil took her wrists, as her hands tried to ease his coat off his shoulders.
“.. I can undress myself,” he said, softly, lacking the edge he wished to summon.
“Of course,” she said, tilting her head as she looked up at him. She stepped back, and Vergil found some part of his core wishing he wasn’t such an absolutely ass and that she’d come back. “I’ll wait for you, then, m’lord.” The woman grabbed the hem of her under-blouse and lifted, pulling it up.
Vergil turned, unsure if it was because he wanted to give the woman some privacy or if he was too shy to see her naked just yet. Cursing his human nature for the millionth time in his life, he cleared his throat, and continued to shrug off his coat. This random woman had forced him to turn his back on her, which was stupid; you never turned your back on a potential threat.
“Why do you do that?” He asked, surprised that he even said anything.
“Why I get undressed, m’lord?”
Her flat, Vergil decided, was terrible. There was no ventilation. What else could explain why Vergil’s face felt so hot.
“Call me “lord?”” He asked, starting to unbutton his vest.
“Are you not?” She said, as Vergil heard the flutter of fabric hit the floor.
She thinks I’m a lord?
…
Well OF COURSE she thinks you’re a lord, you basically are one, fool!
Vergil was also realizing, as he pulled his scarf from around his neck, that there was no conventionally “sexy” way for men to undress when they wore what he usually wore. He was doomed to appear awkward and asinine.
“I am,” he attempted, hoping he sounded confident to her ears, if not his. He glanced over his shoulder and looked again.
Vergil had seen the naked human form before. Some may say, you see one, you’ve seen them all. But humans were unique, in that all looked slightly different and the possibilities were endless. Most of his exposure to, well, “exposure” was all in the sphere of art, sculptures and paintings. Of course, in being in close proximity to “Tony” for even as little time as he had, he did see his fair share of truly unrealistic pornography magazines. Even so, he was .. more than a little under-prepared to see the woman standing before him, utterly naked.
Everything seemed very .. firm. Vergil was unsure what or where to look at, which would be most polite or which would convey that he was in fact in charge and her womanly attributes weren’t going to sway him one way or the other. She had moved her hair so that it covered the tops of her breasts in some semblance of modesty, but that just meant that it was obvious when Vergil stared at them. Her belly was flat and her hips had a gentle widening to them that looked great in a kind of primal way. In the V of her pelvis, a kind of bundle of red-gold hair rested there and Vergil, shamefully, found himself glancing at it before going back to her face .. and back again.
The woman held her arms out, slightly as if beckoning him forward for an embrace, and Vergil almost wanted to run into that embrace, but he was faltered by his own pride.
“Do I please you, m’lord?” She said, softly and Vergil had to swallow hard to keep his more base instincts in check.
“You’ll do,” he said, cooly. And, for a reason not quite known even to himself, he licked his lips and spoke again, “My name’s Vergil.”
She smiled then, and there was something deeply endearing in those deep honey-colored eyes of hers.
“I’m Claudia..”