[ He's already picked out a blue scarf that compliments his coat and has been considering a pair of soft gloves, when the issue of money comes up. He hasn't had any use for it for... decades, at this point, and Vergil does not appreciate this (second) reminder that money must typically be exchanged for goods and services. It's so much easier when he can simply take things, and for a moment, he considers it — before remembering the dream he'd had with the deer, and without reason, a shudder runs down his spine at the thought.
It's then that he realizes there's a human speaking to him, and the glance he shoots the boy is perhaps sharper than it needs to be. The idea of accepting such help, such charity is repugnant, and yet...
The cold outside is obnoxiously bad, and these things would likely help. He regards Credence in silence for just a moment, chooses his words carefully before responding. ]
What, exactly, would such a favor cost me in return?
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It's then that he realizes there's a human speaking to him, and the glance he shoots the boy is perhaps sharper than it needs to be. The idea of accepting such help, such charity is repugnant, and yet...
The cold outside is obnoxiously bad, and these things would likely help. He regards Credence in silence for just a moment, chooses his words carefully before responding. ]
What, exactly, would such a favor cost me in return?