Blood. Demon Blood. It stained his shirt wholly in its vermillion display, and V found himself frowning at the potential prospects it could bring, in terms of both security and having to buy a new shirt. Perhaps he had let himself go far too loosely this time, especially since he was wearing a white dress shirt as compared to a black one, where blood would be much harder to remove.
"Not gonna try with your magic?" Griffon flapped its wing beside V, orbiting his figure. "Dante could do all sorts of things with it, like storing his weapons in an interdimensional space, repairing his clothes..."
"Inaccessible to me, unfortunately." V stood up from one of the chairs he was sitting at, turning to watch the sparked Demon carcasses turn into ash around him, his Summoned Cane being the guillotine to their lives. "This hapless body is still incomparable to my fuller one, as it always will be."
"C'mon, turn that frown upside down!" Griffon stood—or rather, flew—in front of his face, floating. "You're at least a thousand times more capable than you were before, and oh! Maybe Kitty or Nightmare can become stronger 'cause of ya'! Doesn't that sound amazing?"
"A tantalizing prospect for sure, but that remains yet to be seen." V dispelled his Summoned Cane. "I have to return to my part-time job."
"Boring. Got stuck in mundane activities?" The Familiar perched atop his shoulder, the usual energetic currents radiating from its body disappearing.
"I quite enjoy them, actually," he openly admitted, walking through the desecrated remains of the derelict church. "A far superior experience compared to eroding and falling apart."
"Eh, guess you're right. Oh, by the way, how do the sweets taste? You haven't eaten anything in a long time!"
"You're only asking about them now?" V reached his hand out in the air and above him, Griffon taking the cue and grabbing his wrist.
"Hard to ask when you're always hiding me as a tattoo, yeah!" Griffon's wings fluttered anew, body growing larger as the course of the zephyr caressed both their bodies. "I doubt I'll be getting this much freedom as I did back in Red Grave or here!"
"Laterans would prefer to die than never eat their confectioneries again," V said. "Their prices here are almost as cheap as bottled water, so perhaps I could spare one or two your way."
"As cheap as bottled water?!" Griffon turned its head down with what V assumed to be shock. "Holy crap, did you end up in heaven?!"
"I might have," V said, aware that the avian creature most likely intended it to be that way.
"Ya' gotta get me some, alright? I saw some crepes at a vendor by the street while you were making it to that cafe you work at, so—"
"I hear your request." V glanced at his wrist, lip arched. "Hm. I should have brought a watch with me."
"Does it matter? You're probably already late for your shift."
"Touche."
***
Guns. A lot of guns. Too many guns. Even the statues held guns in the palms of their hands, as if they were a sanctified object. Granted, they were definitely one of the most revered items in Laterano, especially if it were a Patron Firearm that would be assigned to the Lateran citizens—only for the Sankta, though. Compared to any other race, they possessed an innate ability to wield those, in the opinion formed by his once fuller self, dishonorable instruments.
But... it would be a lie to say I am not interested in the function of these firearms, V reminisced. Weapons reliant on a specialized kind of Originium Arts—one that Sankta had an intrinsic link to—he found it peculiar.
Aside from that, he had to drench his shirt in water and mud in order to cover up the macabre sight of burgundy splashes ripping across his shirt, and also to cover up the pungent waft that emitted from it. A trip to the clothing store he took, and then a purchase of new clothing was all that was needed to keep his activities a secret.
V made sure to procure a crepe from a vendor before caching in an alleyway and throwing it in Griffon's mouth, much to the Familiar's satisfaction. Appeasing the ornithic creature's insatiable breadbasket was rather effortless, considering it would consume and ingest anything. From moldy pizza rolled across the ground to unseasoned Demon flesh cooked crudely over a bonfire, the Familiar would hold no qualm nor quarter.
"And here I thought you would have preferred eating the Empusa carcasses." V watched the Sankta and Liberi citizens from atop a building, watching them go on with their daily lives. He was glad it wasn't Christmas, for the Sankta would hold festivities for a minimum of two months straight. Though, there were some notable moments in the tumultuous mess, I have to say, V thought.
"Hey, just because I can eat shit, does not mean I prefer shit!" Griffon happily said. "You'd better give me more of these treats, or I might not help ya' next time you get into a scuffle!"
"You'd help me anyways," V brushed him off. "And I'd feed you anyways."
"Hehe!" The Familiar chuckled. "Look at ya', V! Being a big ol' softie!"
"I haven't a clue what you're talking about," V said, stepping up. "Besides, I need to return to my shift. I am indeed late."
It was a Friday. In two days, on a Sunday, he would be required to attend Mass.
***
"Ah, V, what took you so long?" Ms. Aldana spoke from behind the counter, a few customers already enjoying their sugar-excessed drink from the side. "You're a bit late for the job."
"I was held back by matters pertaining to school. I apologize." V respectfully lowered his head as he spoke. "I'll work extra hours to make up."
"Eh, whatever, you can go get dressed now." Ms. Aldana shrugged. "Lemuen also left a small gift for you, by the way. A parfait."
Just as V was about to go to the back of the cafe in order to find his outfit, he paused. "...Another one of her creations?"
"Yeah. Handmade and everything." The Liberi woman opened up a cabinet behind the countertop, bringing out what looked to be fresh coffee beans in a jar. "You should take some time to eat it. You look even slimmer as the day passes, you know?"
"I'll deliberate over that," V said, watching as Ms. Aldana opened a refrigerator where ice was held.
"Hah~ you always deliberate over things. Come on, take a seat." She placed the parfait on the table, motioning with her hand to the front. "We'll start your shift a little bit later than usual."
He heeded her words and went to the front of the cafe, sitting at the countertop. Idly sitting by and picking a spoon to eat the parfait, V decided to let his mind wander for a moment. Some few conversations with Griffon were established mentally, as he had finally discovered how to do so in his new body, but nothing else of note happened.
Just as he had finished half of the parfait, the white-haired man brought out an electronic device. His phone.
My messages... the news... He had become seldom used to using modern technology after spending a length of time in Laterano. ...My messages? He raised an eyebrow when he distinguished something atypical.
50 notification messages. V's eyelids began to scintillate in bewildered blinks as he wondered who exactly had forwarded him so many messages on his phone. Scrolling through it, he saw Serpilia with zero notifications, Mostima's overall messages empty with a standard, 'Start your conversation off with a wave!' Fiammetta with a few more short exchanges between them in short bursts, formal ones with his Ms. Aldana, and then... Lemuen.
Naturally, it should have been her who sent him an artillery regiment through the phone. He clicked on their computerized chat, desiring to see what it was all about.
***
Lemuen: Heeeey~! V, what are you doing now?
Lemuen: Are you still busy? Even Ms. Aldana didn't know where you went.
Lemuen: Well, if it's private, I won't pry. But she might want to know.
Lemuen: I went to the mall with Fiammetta.
Lemuen: Here's a picture!
Lemuen: AtTheMall.PNG
Lemuen: Do you think our outfit matches? :)
Lemuen: I wish Mostima could come.
Lemuen: Also wish you could come too.
Lemuen: When was the last time we hung out together?
Lemuen: I think it was that cafe with the weird ceiling fans?
Lemuen: or was it the bookstore? the one where you got super quiet and disappeared into the history section again lol
Lemuen: anyway i got bubble tea today
Lemuen: fiammetta said it was too sweet but she still drank half of mine?
Lemuen: i told her you'd probably say that's dramatic irony or something like that
Lemuen: you always say stuff like that when we're out
Lemuen: hey did you know they remodeled the arcade
Lemuen: the old shooting game is gone :(
Lemuen: and no i didn't cry about it i just stared at the empty spot for a while and then walked away in a dignified manner
Lemuen: totally dignified
Lemuen: i miss when we'd go there and you'd pretend not to like it but then you'd stay on that weird poetry-themed game for like an hour
Lemuen: oh and fiammetta bought sunglasses shaped like flames today don't ask me why
Lemuen: she said it matched her soul?
Lemuen: she's weird but not like you weird just a different category
Lemuen: anyway
Lemuen: come out of hiding already
Lemuen: you're gonna get all dusty reading in a corner again aren't you
Lemuen: just don't forget to eat okay
Lemuen: also i brought you a cookie i'll just eat it if you don't show up in the next hour
Lemuen: maybe half an hour
Lemuen: maybe five minutes
Lemuen: actually i'm eating it now
***
V had to check if his eyes were right, seeing the text messages. It was the way the Sankta would usually talk over text, a far cry from the usual personality she would display in person. Conveying one's veracious emotions through digital epistles was an endeavour in itself. That, or he was far too fixated to primitive methods of communication like written letters.
He continued to peruse the rest of the electronic messages Lemuen had mass bombarded him with.
***
Lemuen: okay fine i ate the cookie
Lemuen: but i saved you the crumbiest crumb as a gesture of goodwill
Lemuen: you'd appreciate the poetry in that wouldn't you mr tragic sonnet man
Lemuen: ...you're really not gonna answer huh
Lemuen: is your phone dead
Lemuen: or are you dead
Lemuen: wait no don't be dead that's rude
Lemuen: you always do this thing where you vanish like a puff of smoke and then come back with some quote that makes me forget i was mad
Lemuen: not that i'm mad
Lemuen: just a little confused
Lemuen: and okay maybe a tiny bit worried but like not in an overbearing way just like regular concern levels
Lemuen: maybe you fell asleep
Lemuen: maybe you fell asleep in a tree again like that one time
Lemuen: lemme know you're alive soon yeah
Lemuen: i know you don't like noise but silence from you is worse sometimes
Lemuen: just a little something would be nice
Lemuen: even a single dot
Lemuen: or a hyphen
Lemuen: or some spooky raven emoji idk whatever
Lemuen: ...i'll stop spamming you now
Lemuen: maybe
Lemuen: probably
Lemuen: unless something funny happens
Lemuen: or unless i miss you more
***
V's hand hovered over the textbox as he scrutinized the last message Lemuen had sent him. After a split second juncture of diffidence, he decided to dispel all self-doubt and send a message to the Sankta.
***
My apologies, I was embroidered in some complications.
Lemuen: V!
Lemuen: Oh my gosh, you finally responded!
Lemuen: Did you get hit by a car again?
Lemuen: Did a bullet ricochet into your leg? Should I bring flowers?
Nothing as grievous as you imagine has occurred.
Lemuen: Good!
I hear you are at the mall.
Lemuen: Yup!
...May I join?
Lemuen: Huh? Of course you can!
Lemuen: You dork, I was waiting for you to say that
Lemuen: We're by the fountain near the Sanctus Bookstore. Fiammetta's looking at 'chuuni' stuff. That's what they call it in Higashinese, right?
Then I suppose I'll greet you there soon.
Lemuen: You better.
Duly acknowledged.
Lemuen: Good.
Lemuen: Also I bought you another cookie. Don't make me eat it again.
I'll make haste.
***
V turned off his phone. He glanced at the unfinished parfait on the table, the perfume of coffee and grounded cacao beans filling his nose. He grabbed a spoon afterward, scarfing down the delicacy, savoring the taste as much as he could, as much as his borrowed time allowed him.
Out of all the Lateran confectionaries, V thought in his mind, picking out a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiping the corners of his mouth. Lemuen's creation certainly stands out from the rest. Perhaps she could bribe the Cardinal with these delicacies, he humored to himself at the end.
With a huff after finishing his meal, he placed it on the countertop, ready to step up from his seat. That was until he realized that there was another complication that would prevent him from attending—
"Got somewhere to go, V?" Ms. Aldana leaned on the countertop in front of him with a casual elbow demeanor, an all-knowing look on her face.
"...Lemuen is still present in the mall," he responded without a hitch, but his tone was revealing enough that he had practically already given up. "And I was invited."
"Ah, I see." Ms. Aldana rubbed her chin, nodding in understanding. "Go on. You don't have to worry about your salary, the girl looked rather downtrodden when you had left her alone in this cafe."
V blinked at her nonchalance. "Truly?"
"Truly for what?" She raised an eyebrow.
"You would let me go so easily?"
"Mhm, yes, truly. I thought you knew me better than that, V." Ms Aldana grinned. "Go on then, have fun," She stretched with a yawn, "not many customers here today anyways, they're probably off partying with a mountain of cake for Saturday. Coffee wouldn't fit their mood now."
V wanted to comment that it was because she opened her cafe during the afternoon to night, but refrained from doing so. "...Understood. I thank you, Ms Aldana."
"No need to be so formal." She flicked her wrist. "Now shoo, you don't want to be late for a girl, now do you?"
With a nod himself, V exited the cafe, bringing his cane and William Blake poem collection with him.
***
Lemuen didn't know what to think of V when she first met him. It was a spacious library, really, where she had found wonder in some books—especially those of the human mind, psychology, and really; anything related to how people view each other. Psychologically, philosophically, she wished to know more from observation, and what is the greatest source of observation, if not taking in the observation of others?
He sat atop a table alone while other cliques formed around and separated from him. V stood as tall as some of them despite being of elementary age, but his young spirit could not be hidden. Most of his activities would be methodically flipped through pages of hardcover books, yet again, similar to the other adolescent-aged children around them.
There was always a spirit lingering around him. More mature than he seemed, more attuned to knowledge than others, and overall—she didn't know the apt description, but now she did today—scholarly eminence. Sometimes, others would say:
"Oh, Lemuen is so smart for her age."
"Lemuen is just ahead of the rest of the kids."
"She already knows how to handle a firearm!"
"Lemuen knows perfect etiquette, not even a single blemish."
"She's bound to grow up a genius. Just look at her art and her mathematics!"
She didn't know what they were attempting to pontificate. They were observing her, and she too observed them, but she couldn't observe what they were seeing in her. Until she laid eyes on that visage which screamed, 'Holier than thou,' Lemuen had found herself confidently saying she knew what it meant to be: Older than one looked
She didn't know why. She observed him continuously from her corner. It was akin to watching orange aquabeasts tread inside the waters in an aquarium. It was like watching a specimen. She didn't know how to describe it any other way.
That was until, one day, he turned his gaze toward her. It caused her to flinch. No longer was Lemuen observing him, but he was also observing her, and perhaps he already knew she had been observing him for so long, and for such extended periods of time; that she was simply ignorant of.
He turned back to his book. She didn't know what to say at that moment, neither to herself, nor any justification for her clause. Only, maybe she was carried by some sort of instinct to his lonely desk, abridged from any sanctity that would be illuminated by a Sankta's Fluorescent Light.
She approached him. She sat by the chair next to him. She didn't know what to speak nor utter, as she blankly watched him read over a theological text belonging to Laterano, a Genesis book that detailed the beginnings of the utopian nation.
...
She had learned he was an orphan belonging to a church home. His first moments, he recalled from Soror Ava reciting to him, being put in a basket with two distinct items with him, and left in front of a Lateran nursery. Lemuen didn't know what to say at the time. She was an orphan like him, albeit, she wasn't without a family for far too long.
She learned his name was V, a single letter, and nothing else. It was based on the book he would always carry with himself, a large golden letter of 'V' etched onto its cover, delicately, and precisely. Maybe that was the only collection he had of his parents, the ones who abandoned him.
They talked more. He lacked life in his voice. Maybe he did possess a modicum of animation, but he sounded lost based on her observations. She kept observing him, his demeanors, his state of being, his existence, and the way he would inflect his tone. Elegant, at times verbose, at times quoting poetry, he was a weird one when she thought about it—as if he were raised in a genius household.
Lemuen had come to realize it was her initiating the conversation. It felt strange, and new, but... she didn't mind it much. He was a lot different than she expected, as if he had been wanting to talk to somebody for ages. Even then, V was still distant.
...
She once saw him standing before a cracked mirror in the library. Lemuen saw his reflection in the fissured glass, bent and grotesquely malformed in a way that brought uncanniness to it. She was confident he saw her reflection just behind his own, but he never turned her way. He kept looking at it, focusing, remaining unbroken in his chained state to it.
He held a cane in his hand, a very long one that would only be used by somebody who stood at least 1.83 meters tall. The object was decorated scarcely, engravings she could see from the distance, but nothing that would denote it aristocratic or noble. It was sort of endearing watching him hold it with two hands, obviously unfitting of his frame nor stature. But then, something else happened so suddenly.
He raised the item, and plunged it into the fractured mirror, shattering it evermore and digging it deep in, for what reason: Lemuen did not know. For a moment, she saw a reflection of herself in there. Blood dripping across her face, and a lightless abyss in the background. Wordlessly, V spared her only a single glance as the remains of the translucent panes fluttered to the floor, blood at the hems of his wrists with incisions.
Blood. Blood. Blood.
She didn't find herself disturbed by the blood, even as he walked away, the ichor dripping as if it didn't belong to his body. Even when he was berated by the librarian out of both worry and exigency, Lemuen never found herself... disturbed. She walked to the shattered mirror while he was facing rebuke, to glance into the multitudes of shattered worlds laid down before her.
She saw her reflection. Blood. It was still there. Until, it just so swiftly whisked away, the reflections and refractions returning to normal.
That was about it. She never knew what it was, and V had been suspended from the library for a month—his posture still unhampered by the revelation—as if nothing could shake him. He was brought to the hospital briskly after, Soror Ava of the church home berating him with diligent care.
Lemuen would always find herself at the spot of the mirror. It was removed and cleansed of sullied and dusted glass, a naked wall she would stare at. Her gaze was lost to it. She didn't know why, but it had always felt strange to her—something unable to be put into words.
...
There was a time Lemuen brought up a kind of, in a manner of speaking, game to him. They would observe the people passing in and out the library, and see what they were like with what they do. What books they read, their posture, how many times they blinked, how many times they yawned, whether they had friends or not; and they would 'dissect' what they knew of them.
It fit in her opinion. He was scanning a psychological book far above his age and grade range, and wasn't there some topic about psychoanalysis at some paragraph during that time? Well, the most vivid thing she recalled in the apertured memory was that he had a rather good sense of other people.
Lemuen became more curious as he described the passersby in an almost poetic way, disinterest lacing his tone intermittently. There, she was invested in his descriptions to the point where she had dropped her participation in order to hear what he would say. For a non-Sankta, he was good at reading other Sankta, the cadence and rhythm matching the empathic connection she could feel.
From then on, she kept observing him at the same table they went to over and over again. She just couldn't help herself.
When she brought in her newly acquired Patron Firearm to the library for him to see at her coming-of-age, he didn't seem to hold much interest in it—much to her disappointment.
However, once upon a time, Lemuen had placed a flower in its barrel, a white day when she arrived at the library. V seemed to be more... acknowledging? She didn't know, but he found interest in it with how many times he had glanced its way.
It was also the first time she had heard him recite a poem from that book of his.
"To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour."
She liked how it sounded, for it felt special in a way. Out of all things she had heard him speak from that book from henceforth, that was always her favorite.
***
Lemuen was looking down at her phone. Fiammetta stood by her, arms crossed with a raised eyebrow, most likely contemplating what to do next in school, or mayhaps what the pink-haired Sankta had been so captivated by. Nevertheless, she remained still, never once having left the chat conversation between her and V.
Many other people, Sankta and Liberi alike, with some rare Elafia walked around the mall. Shooting ranges were occupied as the distant sound of muffled gunfire could be heard, with advertisements lining billboards and pasted walls.
"Do you think he's actually going to arrive?" Fiammetta asked suddenly. "He flaked on us last time."
"Hm, maybe. But something came up," Lemuen said, gaze never leaving the device. "He already dealt with whatever today. I don't think he'd flake again."
"...That's true, you're not wrong. But doesn't he work at Ms. Aldana's cafe?" Fiammetta brought up. "It's around this time until early night, 10:00 P.M if I recall correctly. That's still one thing he hasn't settled."
The realization struck her in an almost delayed fashion. "Oh—ah..." The Sankta paused, hand frozen. "How did I forget...?" A slow chuckle left her as she closed her eyes sweetly.
"See what I'm talking about?" The Liberi shrugged, feeling as if the Sankta was acting too sweet. "Did he send you any other message? Like, a change in plans?"
"No, he didn't." Lemuen glanced down, lips thinning. "It's still the same thing." She read it over again, the same, 'I'll make haste,' message being the focal point of her view.
"Well, give him another text. I wouldn't want to keep waiting just for him to change his mind at the last second." Fiammetta bobbed her head a few times as she reconsidered. "Or maybe he's arguing with Ms. Aldana?"
"He never argues with her," Lemuen said matter-of-factly, voice soft. "I'll give him another text then—"
Footsteps were heard from a distance. Lemuen perked up, knowing the sound of his gait from anywhere, the most distinct out of all other marching thumps she heard from across the mall. Lo' and behold, when her vision turned to where she ascertained the movements, she saw him. The white-haired man with an engraved cane and thick hardcover book was no other than V.
His eyes turned from the opened book in front of his face as if it were a half-veil, looking at the two—Lemuen and Fiammetta.
"Huh, would you look at that," Fiammetta said, shielding her eyes from the sun. "He's actually here."
Lemuen bolted his way.