diverging path: a

[ He does not like it here. Far from the temperate climate of Red Grave City, even further from the tepid humidity of Hell, this cold is... unpleasant, in a word. Even despite the demon in his blood chasing off the chill, he can feel it settling back in seconds later, stinging at his ears and fingertips and leaving him just this side of uncomfortable.

Vergil hates it, and after withstanding it as long as he can manage, finds himself at a store picking out a rich dark blue scarf. He's got an aesthetic to maintain, after all. It helps, though not as much as he'd like, and he pulls it up close around his face as he steps back into the outdoors.

He is a son of the Legendary Dark Knight Sparda. Such a thing as a little cold is not allowed to bother him. This will be fine.

When he dips his hand into his pocket and finds the little box, it's with narrowed eyes that he investigates its contents. What foolishness is this? A few measly matches? Where did they come from? There's a sharp glare at the nearest person as he holds them up. ]

Did you put these here?

diverging path: b

[ Even more than he hates being here, he hates that he's giving in to this incessant cold. Try as he might to locate somewhere away from others, he finds himself pulling the matchbox out of his pocket and striking one of the matches.

Immediately, he feels a bit better, and there's a bit of a sigh as warmth courses through him. Vergil does what he can to shelter the flame from the surroundings, but when he looks up, his eyes go wide.

There, in front of him, is a man in a red leather jacket whose face is eerily similar to Vergil's own. The man in red grins, holds out a hand and makes that ever so familiar gesture that universally means "bring it," and Vergil grins as he reaches for his own sword. ]

Well, well. It's about time you showed your face.

[ And then he lunges to attack, match entirely forgotten. But is he really attacking who he thinks he is? ]

[ Vergil is very much not happy to be here. He'd been doing things, has a score to settle and a count to keep. The fact that he's in some quaint little town instead infuriates him to no degree.

At least this town appears to be nothing like Fortuna, that he can tell: no giant statues to his father, no vaguely demonic presences to eliminate. More concerning is the fact that he sees no sign of the Qliphoth, a sure sign that he is much farther from Red Grave than he'd like, with little to no idea of how he got here.

That also means he has no idea where his twin brother is, a fact that rankles to no end.

Feel free to bump into him as he tries to get his bearings by imperiously walking into buildings he doesn't own and very slowly starting to remember how human societies work. What do you mean money must be exchanged for goods? If you're particularly lucky, you may also see him sneaking off to a quiet, empty space and pulling the sword from his waist. There will be two grandiose slashes through the air in the shape of a plus sign — and when nothing happens, he will be very unhappy. Feel free to ask why he's being weird! ]

[ if you'd like to interact with him in a different way, please feel free! I'm always down for anything, but if you want to run it by me first you're welcome to PM me or ping me on plurk at tieflings. promise I don't bite, though he may. ]