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[treasure 4] berry delight, deep within
Sep. 8th, 2023 02:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
throwmoreswordsWHO: Vergil (and Gilgamesh) and you!
WHERE: the network
WHEN: after Vergil recovers a certain skill
WHAT: sometimes you're just chillin' at the pad and then your buddy has a 'hold my beer' moment and of course you're gonna record it. that's what friends do, right?
WARNINGS: none to start other than verg(il) swearing.
[ it starts with a shot of Gilgamesh, knuckles to his mouth as he looks down at the camera, and then up at something, eyebrows raised and smile just barely concealed under the cage of his fingers. ]
For posterity. [ his voice is quiet, private, and then the camera view clicks over and--
Vittore's clearly been practicing his sword forms, and yet, there is something innately, utterly dorky in the fact that he is practicing sword forms in a literal backyard in the first place. a cheap patio furniture set stands as his visible audience, not yet replaced because it takes a minute to get ahold of the good metal stuff, even if you have more money than god to pay for expedited shipping. most of the man's movements are fluid, elegant in the sweep of their scope, though it's clear there's some measure of improvement still yet to be made--Vittore starts and restarts katas when he's unhappy with them, his movements light and purposeful, his thoughts deeply turned in towards himself with how he mutters in his mothertongue as Gilgamesh provides a quiet running commentary. ]
I quite like this maneuver--stomp, stomp, stomp, and then we do the big sword sweep, and now we're back to stomp, stomp, stomp.
[ it is taking every ounce of restraint Gilgamesh has ever possessed in his body not to laugh as Vergil continues his backyard dance with Yamato, and then something shifts--the camera bobs a little as Gil adjusts it, as Vergil slides into a very particular looking crouch, hand on both the katana's hilt and its sheathe as he goes impeccably still. ] It's like the air is filled with static, all of a sudden. It's making my teeth itch.
[ what happens next is--blurry and instantaneous and hectic all at once. Vergil does not move and the fence--a quaint, white picket sort of deal--explodes.
wood splinters and rains out, clattering apart in a hundred messy pieces as Gilgamesh swears in his own mothertongue in tandem with a sharp, startled 'fanculo' from Vergil, the man taking a half step back as the fence shudders through its death throes. Gil continues to mutter for a moment, finally managing a good old fashioned 'what the fuck' as he begins to approach Vergil, only stopping when the plastic table also flops over in a gruesome, three-quarters cut death, camera briefly snapping to that as the shitty plastic lawn furniture topples, leaving only one of the chairs as a survivor, pristine and oddly untouched among all of the inanimate carnage.
kill the cameraman, but at least he stops a few feet away from Vergil, behind the man as he seemingly surveys his newfound kingdom of splinters and shards (and the one chair, defiant in the face of the reaper.) ]
Fucking hells, Vittore, I just bought you that fence! You've had it for less than a month! If you didn't like it that much, we could've called a company!
[ Vittore's shoulders draw inwards at having been caught in the act, not bothering to turn around as he snaps back. ] Says the man who broke a window with a chain of all things-- [ and then Vergil does turn, eyes widening as his gaze snaps straight to the camera. ] Are you--? Turn it off, Gilgamesh! You testa di cazzo--
[ and then the camera is being rushed by a certain blue cryptid, and while Gilgamesh may die, he did at least post this to the network so you all should say nice things about him at the funeral. ]
WHERE: the network
WHEN: after Vergil recovers a certain skill
WHAT: sometimes you're just chillin' at the pad and then your buddy has a 'hold my beer' moment and of course you're gonna record it. that's what friends do, right?
WARNINGS: none to start other than verg(il) swearing.
[ it starts with a shot of Gilgamesh, knuckles to his mouth as he looks down at the camera, and then up at something, eyebrows raised and smile just barely concealed under the cage of his fingers. ]
For posterity. [ his voice is quiet, private, and then the camera view clicks over and--
Vittore's clearly been practicing his sword forms, and yet, there is something innately, utterly dorky in the fact that he is practicing sword forms in a literal backyard in the first place. a cheap patio furniture set stands as his visible audience, not yet replaced because it takes a minute to get ahold of the good metal stuff, even if you have more money than god to pay for expedited shipping. most of the man's movements are fluid, elegant in the sweep of their scope, though it's clear there's some measure of improvement still yet to be made--Vittore starts and restarts katas when he's unhappy with them, his movements light and purposeful, his thoughts deeply turned in towards himself with how he mutters in his mothertongue as Gilgamesh provides a quiet running commentary. ]
I quite like this maneuver--stomp, stomp, stomp, and then we do the big sword sweep, and now we're back to stomp, stomp, stomp.
[ it is taking every ounce of restraint Gilgamesh has ever possessed in his body not to laugh as Vergil continues his backyard dance with Yamato, and then something shifts--the camera bobs a little as Gil adjusts it, as Vergil slides into a very particular looking crouch, hand on both the katana's hilt and its sheathe as he goes impeccably still. ] It's like the air is filled with static, all of a sudden. It's making my teeth itch.
[ what happens next is--blurry and instantaneous and hectic all at once. Vergil does not move and the fence--a quaint, white picket sort of deal--explodes.
wood splinters and rains out, clattering apart in a hundred messy pieces as Gilgamesh swears in his own mothertongue in tandem with a sharp, startled 'fanculo' from Vergil, the man taking a half step back as the fence shudders through its death throes. Gil continues to mutter for a moment, finally managing a good old fashioned 'what the fuck' as he begins to approach Vergil, only stopping when the plastic table also flops over in a gruesome, three-quarters cut death, camera briefly snapping to that as the shitty plastic lawn furniture topples, leaving only one of the chairs as a survivor, pristine and oddly untouched among all of the inanimate carnage.
kill the cameraman, but at least he stops a few feet away from Vergil, behind the man as he seemingly surveys his newfound kingdom of splinters and shards (and the one chair, defiant in the face of the reaper.) ]
Fucking hells, Vittore, I just bought you that fence! You've had it for less than a month! If you didn't like it that much, we could've called a company!
[ Vittore's shoulders draw inwards at having been caught in the act, not bothering to turn around as he snaps back. ] Says the man who broke a window with a chain of all things-- [ and then Vergil does turn, eyes widening as his gaze snaps straight to the camera. ] Are you--? Turn it off, Gilgamesh! You testa di cazzo--
[ and then the camera is being rushed by a certain blue cryptid, and while Gilgamesh may die, he did at least post this to the network so you all should say nice things about him at the funeral. ]
