Chapter 15: The Dark Waltz
Disclaimer: Song by Hayley Westenra and Hello Kitty belongs to Sanrio~
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We are the lucky ones
We shine like a thousand suns
When all of the colour runs together
I'll keep you company
In one glorious harmony
Waltzing with destiny forever
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Vergil wasn't certain what had brought him – though with his luck, possessed him more likely, came the humourless thought – to the Kindergarten Fair that he had just yesterday, decided not to attend.
He was certain he had been on his way to Enzo's bar in order to do some reconnaissance before it opened, but had somehow managed to pick out paths that led him closer to the kindergarten instead of the Underground. Twice he had corrected his course, and twice more his feet had led him to the fair before his sleep-deprived mind managed to wake itself sufficiently. Giving it up for lost; he resigned himself to a visit in the hopes that he could rouse himself from his almost-stupor with some new sights and sounds.
Vergil skirted the crowds and screaming children with a grimace, the smell of grease and the blare of music only serving to exacerbate the dull pounding in his temples. Taking the quieter passages led him to an empty playground that neighbored a large park, thicketed with actual trees decked in full autumn regalia. With the sugar-induced shrieking and nauseatingly cheerful natter now only a pleasantly muted hum, Vergil chose the least offensive of the plastic animal chairs and let out a heavy sigh as he stretched long legs before him.
He was exhausted.
Sleep was an unwelcome temptation that constantly crept at the edges of his consciousness, tempting with illusions of rest, yet leading only to nightmares. His plan to combat them was simple: if he did not sleep then he would not dream. It was ingenious and would've been even Dante-proof if he could only figure out how to forgo it entirely.
While he had never needed much sleep in the past, his current condition was deplorable and could no longer take the strain half as well. Caffeine could only take him so far and he disliked relying on anything other than his own (admittedly diminishing) strength.
But his choices for distractions were pitifully limited. Vergil could no longer research effectively, words blurring themselves into an unintelligible mess whenever he let himself relax even slightly. His blade had been growing heavier in his hand as well; he could no longer count on the adrenaline rush of a good fight to keep him going when he could hardly focus on his enemies. There was no escaping it – Vergil knew that he had to give in to sleep sooner or later.
He obstinately chose later.
Vergil cast a distasteful look at the crowded distance and wondered what in the world Kyrie had been so eager to see here.
As if the very thought of her name was a summoning, his tired eyes picked out a figure decked in cotton-white make her way through the mob and towards his hiding place. But instead of skirting the crowd, she made her way through its heart, completely at ease in the midst of the rabble as they made way for, and towards, her. Children came running to show off their frocks and suits, parents approached with warm smiles and hugs to engage in some small talk. His five second prowl took her a full ten minutes as Kyrie clasped hands, righted lopsided bows and made affectionate greetings, as fully at ease with the crowd as he had found it confining.
"Kyrieeeee!" A dozen smiling faces crowded around her knees, tugged at her white shift and then dashed past in a rowdy game of tag; getting everywhere all at once in their excitement.
Said girl laughed and reached out to stroke down a rumpled shock of hair. "It'll be our turn soon enough. Only two more performances to go, so why don't we go find Ms. Greenfield and get ourselves ready? Be careful now – it would be a shame if your clothes mess up before you even get on stage."
There were anxious murmurs all around as the children began to tug skirts and pat trousers to rights. A harried kindergarten teacher came running through the crowd and, upon seeing the now more docile children, gave Kyrie an admiring look. "You have to teach me how to do that." She gave a frazzled sigh and began to hand out paper flowers to each of the children, who promptly squabbled over who had the prettiest bouquet. "Come along now; let's get in line!"
Kyrie was helping out with the distribution when an impatient hand pulled at her skirt.
"Why didn't you dress up more?" Came the exasperated sigh of a six year old. "You're supposed to be a princess! Look – I have three ribbons, but you don't even have one!"
"Oh," Kyrie looked thoughtful. "I didn't really think about that. It's alright though, you can be princess enough for both of us."
"That's not good enough!"
"Hm… So what should I do to look more princess-y?"
A few girls perked up.
"Ooh – I have some Hello Kitty lip gloss! It's strawberry flavoured."
"We can put some flowers in your hair! There's some on the bush by the front gate,"
"But my mommy said princesses have crowns…"
"We don't have one – "
"There's gold wrapping paper on the teacher's desk!"
"I'll get it!"
Kyrie amiably let herself be put under the children's busy hands; their ministrations proving useful to distract herself from her pounding heart and nerves. She took a deep breath and concentrated on the feel of the wooden bench she had been herded to and on the little fingers combing through her hair, which had been let loose on this special occasion.
She was a little nervous. Maybe even a tinsy bit scared of facing that crowd beyond the curtains of the stage. But she was going to do this to the best of her abilities because everyone had worked so hard on it and the children would be so disappointed if she backed out now because of a shameful excuse such as nerves.
She was going to conquer her fears and get up there on and sing. On stage. In front of dozens of strangers. Who would all be staring, scrutinizing her every move...
"Almost done!"
"Ooh, you look so pretty-ful Kyrie!"
"And then you can meet your prince charming and give him a big kiss!" There was a conspiratorial giggle.
The boys who had been watching with amused interest instantly drew back, looks of horror and disgust on their faces.
"Oh gross!"
A swarthy boy whacked his playmate none too gently. "Don't bully others – it's not nice even if they are girls."
"Go away!" A girl sniffed.
"Babies." Another agreed.
"I know you are, but what am I?"
Before the squabbling could begin in earnest, two children dashed back from the classroom, triumphant looks on their faces.
"We got it! Look Kyrie – look!"
A misshapen crown, folded out of gold paper and covered almost entirely in tape was passed around and admired at all angles.
"Now you're a princess." The tallest of the girls reverently placed it atop Kyrie's dark head and beamed.
"Thank you so much; it's lovely." Kyrie spoke honestly, feeling her nervousness abate at the swell of gratitude to the thoughtfulness of their gesture. "I bet no princess has ever had a crown so beautiful."
All of a sudden there was a loud cheer from the court, where the makeshift stage had been erected. Kyrie and the children paused, exchanging startled looks.
"Wow! That sounds like a lotta people!"
"My mommy said she brought my Unckie and Auntie to watch!"
"We're next right?"
This began a bout of nervous and giddy chatter at which her trepidation came back at full force, reminding Kyrie that she was acutely and thoroughly nervous.
Kyrie stepped away quietly, forgotten in the midst of the excitement, and slipped off to the side of the chattering children and to the currently abandoned playground that seemed to offer the only chance for solitude.
What if she stumbled on stage or mixed her words up? What if she forgot the lyrics and stood there mutely? What if she hit a sour note or… or…
Worse still, Nero hadn't come yet. Kyrie scanned the crowd anxiously, her insides twisting at the mass that had gathered there that day. Even the glint of camcorders and cameras had looked particularly menacing in the harsh afternoon light and she took a shaky breath.
"Hang in there Kyrie; it will be alright." She murmured fiercely, pacing the length of the playground. "You've sang in public dozens of times before and haven't embarrassed yourself yet… You can do this!"
"Well, there's always a first time for everything." Came a low, velvet drawl and Kyrie straightened up instantly.
"There doesn't have to be." She cocked her head to the side, listening hard. "Or at least it doesn't have to be now."
"True. Although now's as good a time as any."
Kyrie traced the sound to come from the shadowed corner of the playground. "…I don't quite like your logic."
"My logic doesn't like anybody very much; don't take it to heart."
She couldn't help but laugh at the wryness of his tone.
Suddenly, from far away came a mocking echo of laughter from the crowd, as if to shake the peace that Kyrie had managed to gain from this unexpected meeting. She licked strawberry-flavoured lips and clasped her hands tightly.
"Vergil," Came the fierce whisper. "What if I throw up?"
He surprised both her and himself by chuckling; an exhausted, low baritone that nevertheless sent a pleasant shiver down her spine and delighted musically sensitive ears. She moved past the slide and came face to face with Vergil, who gave her a raised eyebrow of acknowledgement from his recline on a panda stool.
"Oh – you're wearing normal clothes!" Kyrie backtracked quickly. "I mean, different ones. In a good way. Not that your usual clothes don't look normal or good. I mean…"
Her blush only heightened his amusement as he dryly replied, "I'm glad you approve." Vergil had opted to wear more casual clothing for his daytime reconnoiter: an ebony overcoat left unbuttoned to reveal the grey sweater that hung gracefully atop broad shoulders and a navy scarf, draped across the long legs clad in dark denim.
He plucked the makeshift crown from restless fingers before it could be further shredded.
"No – I mean yes, of course, but… What I really want to say is, I'm really happy that you came!" She finished wringing her hands to smile, so honestly glad to see him that Vergil could say nothing.
Kyrie fished out a pink bunny stool and sat uninvited beside him. "Have you had the chance to go around the fair? I haven't forgotten my promised bribe, so if anything's caught your eye…"
"I'm fine." He let the crown dangle from the tip of a long finger and studied it, forehead knitted. "I'd rather you not throw up near my vicinity though if you're feeling that nauseous."
"Oh – I'm not sick or anything, just… nervous."
"I gathered as much from your little soliloquy. If I ask you what it is and feign appropriate interest, will that incite you to leave?"
"Not if it will deprive me of the pleasure of your company." She was learning, he thought resignedly, to return his taunts with decidedly softened quips of her own.
"Alright then, I won't ask."
The silence stretched between them for a moment until Kyrie threw him a sideways look. "Um… If you do have the sudden urge to ask though, do feel free."
"Hm."
"And… you know." Kyrie attempted a dismissive wave of her hand that would have looked unconcerned if only her voice didn't waver slightly. "In the event of me embarrassing myself beyond repair, I would understand it if you choose never to associate with me again."
"Alright."
"And – oh, Vergil, I changed my mind." Kyrie buried her head unto her lap, voice muffled and desperate. "Please! Feign interest!"
"Well then," His face remained smoothly impassive. "In the case that your voice cracks in the middle of the song or you trip on some sniveling child and fall off the stage or have the crowd suddenly decide that they'd much rather beat themselves to death with their cameras rather than to listen to your singing- "
"Vergil…!" Came the nervous wail.
"…I will wait for you to come crawling back and, regardless of your disgrace, tell you that you did a good job." He finished. "Will that suffice?"
Kyrie raised her head to peek at him from behind her fingers. "…Were you trying to be comforting?"
He gave an elegant shrug. "Did it work?"
Funny enough, it did. Kyrie bit her lip lightly before pressing her clasped hands tightly against her lips and closing her eyes. "Please…" Came the taut whisper. "Will you tell me I'll be alright?"
"…You'll be alright." He repeated after a lengthy pause. Although it wasn't precisely in his nature to be so obliging, but Vergil saw no harm in humouring the girl this one time.
"If you don't mind…with more conviction!"
He studied the paleness of her cheeks beneath a lidded gaze. "You'll be alright."
"I'll do my best and that's all that everyone expects of me, right?"
"No." His voice rose, clear and sharp. "You'll do your best because that's what you should expect of yourself."
"Oh." Kyrie's dark eyes flickered open. "That too."
"That most of all." He agreed.
"…Now if you could just say that with a smile…"
"Don't push it." Came the warning growl.
Vergil did not find the sound of Kyrie's pealing laughter unpleasant.
There came a boisterous cheer from the crowd, signalling the end of the previous performance and Vergil reached out to drop the misshapen crown atop Kyrie's head as she rose to her feet.
"Vergil?"
Said man returned her gaze with half-lidded but chary eyes. "What?"
"Thank you."
His answering sigh was soft and nearly imperceptible from the leaf rustle the autumn wind blew by.
"Get out there and sing."
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Dance me into the night
Underneath the moon shining so bright
Turning me into the light
Time dances, whirling past
I gaze through the looking glass
And feel just beyond my grasp is heaven
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Nero jiggled his leg restlessly as Agnus stuck probes against the luminescent blue of his demonic arm, both their gazes fixed onto the screen that displayed various measurements of an erratic nature.
"So why don't the pills work?" Nero demanded impatiently.
"The medication is still in the testing process. It's understandable if the suppressors d-d-don't work as they ought to for every s-s-single dosage." Agnus tapped several keys and the data on the screen saved into a disk that he promptly slipped into a fraying pouch in his belt. He took a seat behind his new desk and chair, taking a moment to admire the new furniture he had bought to replace the ones that Gloria had raged on, before picking up a cup and handing it to Nero.
"D-d-drink this. It should amplify today's dose." He lied, watching as the young man thoughtlessly did so. "What kind of d-d-dreams did you have? Research has shown that the s-s-subconscious often relates vital information this way."
"I don't remember." He replied testily. "What are you – a shrink? Stick the practicals on me: how long will it take for the next batch of suppressors? What do I do in the meanwhile?"
Agnus hesitated before replying. As he had told Gloria, he had begun to switch Nero's pills with harmless sugar placebos – but to keep the boy ignorant of that fact for the next week and avoid being shot at would be difficult to say the least. "…Have you tried deep b-breathing or yoga?"
Nero's lips curled into an amiable smile that unnerved Agnus more than the usual death glare. "Funny man aren't you? Ha. Ha. Bonus ha for saying that with a straight face to someone who can blow your brains out faster than you can blink."
"Mrrr, feisty today as well aren't we?"
The door swung open with a soft whoosh of air and Gloria sashayed in.
Nero yanked his arm back a split-second too late, and her eyes flickered first from his demonic arm then to his pale face.
But the door had been locked! Nero tried to swallow away the sudden dryness in his throat. He had always made sure of that – there was no way he wouldn't have locked the door before having the check-up. However, the fact that she was standing there, inquisitive eyes raking over his demonic arm told him the truth…
It was over.
No one other than Credo and Agnus had known about his condition – no one else would be half so understanding or willing to keep such an immense secret. For the past eight years since he had come under the Order's wing, Nero had kept knowledge of his arm under lock and key; a jealously guarded secret that promised dreadful consequences if divulged to the wrong person. So he told no one, hoping that by keeping apart from others he could remain with Credo and Kyrie as well as delay the inevitable witch hunt from the purists of the Order. But here it was - the beginning of the end of his peaceful world.
It had been nice while it lasted.
"This… this isn't…" He began defiantly, helplessly, but Gloria hardly batted an eye.
"Ah, I suppose that's why you're so talented at slaying." Her face betrayed nothing but mild amusement. "Agnus, be a dear and contact Credo for me. The coffee in the precinct is absolutely horrendous and now I want to yell at somebody."
Nero stared incredulously as Agnus heaved a sigh and dutifully left the room, presumably to call for the missing commander.
"Y…You're not going to tell anyone? Or throw me off the force?" His voice rose a little, in a strange mixture of anger and relief at her easy acceptance of his demonic arm. This was a little surreal, considering he had long ago resigned himself to disownment, no – more likely disembowelment, if anyone had ever found out his secret.
"And why would I do that?" Gloria's low chuckle didn't grate as heavily on Nero's nerves as usual. "You and I – we're a lot more alike than you think darling."
Gloria perched herself on the edge of the table, admiring her perfect manicure with affected indifference. "That must have been a tough secret to keep. Who else knows?"
"Aside from Agnus… Credo." Despite not liking to talk about his demonic abilities, Gloria's earlier words intrigued him and Nero found himself answering her questions in the hope that she's do the same. "You mentioned earlier that we're alike. What did you mean…?"
"Now, now. Every woman has to have her secrets. It keeps the men guessing and adds to the mystery about her." Gloria's answering smile was almost sincere. "I know it's not a great consolation, but you're not alone in this. We're all fighting our battles and we all keep our sordid secrets – but we aren't the giving up type now, are we?"
For a split second, Nero caught a glimpse though her unabashed posturing to a woman no less sensual, but a little more vulnerable – someone who struggled and was tired and felt pain. Someone… a little more human.
"Damn right." He almost smiled in return, but caught himself in time. "Uh… I gotta go; Kyrie's fair should be starting soon." Nero fumbled over the glove and felt his heart leap in shock as white clad hands closed over his own.
Gloria slid the leather down snuggly and pulled the zip close in one smooth motion, ignoring his suddenly tensed up figure, muscles coiled in classic fight or flight readiness.
"You look tired. Had a few sleepless nights?" Came the purring query.
And as if her words were some signal, the toll of the week's worth of sleepless nights and fatigue suddenly came crashing down. His brain was suddenly sleep-fuddled, limbs useless and leaden. Gloria noticed the sudden droop of his body and caught him just before he tumbled to the floor.
"Agnus!" He heard her panicked cry and despite the sudden searing heat that coursed from his arm to his whole body, was touched at her concern. "Something's wrong with Nero!"
It wasn't as simple as pain – even that would have been more welcome than the strange, alien sensation of his body shutting down.
His glazed gaze caught the white blob that might have been Agnus, stumble-run in and began to say something in a voice that he supposed was meant to be soothing but only made him sound even creepier than usual.
"…ie…" Nero croaked.
Gloria leaned forward, a cool hand smoothing back his hair back. "What is it?"
"Te…" And with all the strength he could muster, he managed. "Tell Ky..rie I'll… be la…te."
Then, Nero knew no more.
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Sacred geometry
Where movement is poetry
Visions of you and me forever
Dance me into the night
Underneath the moon shining so bright
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Vergil's sharp ears caught the pleased cooing of the parents as little footsteps tromped across the stage as well as the flood of camera clicks that ensued. Then came a polite silence as the soft strains of violin weaved in with the spicy autumn air, punctuated only by the occasional shuffle of some proud parent or nervous kindergartener on stage.
He watched lacy clouds sail across the uncannily blue sky, feeling as if the world had drawn into itself to wait with eager expectation the promised song.
Then, she sang the first pure note and his breath caught between heart and throat.
It was a moon-kissed voice, romancing the ear and captivating the heart. The whimsical melody was strangely haunting; tasting of candle lit memories and velvet darkness. Perhaps because the nightmares had been ripping, tearing, gouging into the weaknesses of his heart, but it had been wearing his defenses away to the point where he was too tired to hate anyone, not even himself.
He fancied that this was what redemption must taste like.
Lulled by the gentle croon of her voice and the thrumming serenade from the violin, Vergil closed his eyes and allowed himself, for the first time in so many years, to fall – willingly, trustingly, deeply - asleep.
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Let the dark waltz begin
Oh let me wheel - let me spin
Let it take me again
Turning me into the light