[Flattery, or in this case sincerity, is its own form of magic. For Vergilius' sake, Lobelia doesn't celebrate his victory with raucous laughter, simply humming in delight as he meets that firm grip with one much gentler and guides Vergilius into the water. Unfortunately, Lobelia takes the opportunity to twine his other arm around the small of Vergilius' back and hug him close.]
C'est froid! Do you not care that I could have died of hypothermia, Vergilius? You truly are a cruel man!
[It is rather cold - even as he's entering the cool water, he's shivering and trying not to show it. Perhaps it really is a boon to have a warm body here, one that he instinctively moves closer to even as he's pulled in. His own arms, hesitating, move up to wrap around the other's shoulders.]
[The cold of the water seems distant already.]
Perhaps it'll build character. Its definitely not a pleasant way to go. Unless you'd prefer I break your neck again?
[The cool water does have its benefits, mostly the way it emphasizes their body heat and makes him all the more aware of the press of skin against skin and how very pleasant it is. There's certainly no shame in Lobelia's game, closing whatever distance remains between them by hugging Vergilius tightly in his arms. Hugs are nice! A shame no one else ever wants to hug him, but he doesn't need them to when he has Vergilius now.
Nosing into the juncture between Vergilius' shoulder and neck, laughter rumbles in Lobelia's throat, hums gently along the other man's skin.]
I would rather not suffer a death that wasn't wrought by your hands. Where is the fun in being subdued by a pool of cold water?
[Nobody wants to hug Lobelia...until now, perhaps. Vergilius is probably the only person who would. There were people, once upon a time, who could've hugged him like this, but he doesn't even remember the last time it happened. A past never to return.]
[The softness of the gesture eases something in his chest, pressing his head against the other's as Lobelia goes for the crook of his neck. It tickles. In response, his index finger scrapes up along the side of the other's neck.]
Mm. [Now his breath is humming in his throat.] It's still by my hands. So savor that. It isn't as if you decided to dump yourself in here.
[Touchรฉ... Vergilius' touch tickles, but Lobelia doesn't shy from it, inspired to goosebumps and chuckling in a manner so innocent as to be ill-fitting for someone who has spilled as much blood as himself. The harsh dichotomy remains and will only grow more severe, Lobelia's intention to share every bit of that sickly, overly saccharine affection with this man so long as he'll tolerate it.]
That much is true, but I wouldn't be satisfait dying under those conditions. I want your hands on me, mon amour. Something so indirect as freezing to death could never please me.
[Mon amour...even as much as he's heard the other man say it, there's still something a little unexpected about it. It's as if he's surprised every time, like a child playing peekaboo with a parent and too young to know what's happening.]
[Another little sigh graces his lips as he presses them almost casually against the side of the man's head.]
One would think you're just too excited for me to get my hands on you in general. You need to practice some restraint. Do you even know what that word means?
[Restraint, eh? Lobelia would like to think he practices plenty, and isn't it only natural to want to touch your lover? His answer comes out first as a laugh, and then he settles in closer, every word a soft vibration against the other man's skin.]
Would that make you happy?
[Lobelia is fine with their arrangement just as it is. Still, in his ongoing effort to honor mutuality, it's important that he isn't the only one who feels such. If you asked him, his partner is simply unused to this sort of easy, open affection, and maybe that's something that needs to change.]
[Happy. Again, that omnipresent word that has haunted them since they met. He thought he never deserved happiness. It was something to be glimpsed, not obtained.]
[He holds Lobelia close, this warm, bloodthirsty flower of a man. Everything is too new to be comfortable with.]
[That may be the more important question here. Vergilius is unused to affection, no doubt thinking himself undeserving of it, but that line of thought isn't enough to deter Lobelia. Vergilius will surely acclimate in time, adaptable as he is, but he won't without a desire to.
Lobelia loosens his hold on him enough to lean back and meet him eye to eye.]
It's a bit frightening, non? I lack the words to describe the feeling, but I felt as much myself earlier. It's nouveau, and that's what makes it so troublesome to come to grips with.
[Of course its frightening. When you have lost everyone you cared for, what is the point in caring again? He may look after that young lady at home in his own way, but even he won't get too close. He's too skittish. A feral dog who can't adjust to domestic life without wanting to bite the hand that feeds it for the sake of saving himself pain.]
... [His eyes are not meeting the other's.] Self satisfaction is...something out of reach for me. For good reason.
[He had Vergilius pegged as a bleeding heart from the very beginning, but it's only in recent days that Lobelia has gotten a clear picture of just how badly it bleeds. Truly, his powers suit him well... but there's a critical flaw in Vergilius' logic, one Lobelia risks invoking his ire to point out to him.]
Yet you let people like me burrow under your skin and take root. I doubt I am the first.
[It's alright if Vergilius can't manage to meet his gaze. It wasn't that long ago that Lobelia couldn't manage the same, equally paralyzed by the need to keep his emotions in check and keep those roots from spreading.]
"Le cลur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaรฎt point." Basically... the heart has its own reasons that your mind can't comprehend. You may desire to keep others at a distance, but what you desire and what you need are two different things. It isn't selfish to care for oneself, you know.
[That's right. He did let Lobelia in. He frowns at that, eyes a little brighter, but he's not reacting to it, yet.]
...
[He always keep returning to that moment. A warm voice. A temptation. It would be so easy to dwell in his own desires, and care less about the world around him. But that way led to distortion, both literal and not. He told the voice it was a coward. He would keep going, and end up in his own well, with no desire to stoke, well, his own desire.]
[So he's stuck. Lobelia's words hit him, and he still continues to gaze away at the flowing water between them.]
I said no to...selfishness before. It doesn't feel right. After everything I've done...I should deny myself that option.
[It's nothing Lobelia can relate to, being so selfish that he's never thought twice about pursuing his own desires above all else. Vergilius is his perfect opposite, denying himself any degree of happiness because he believes the weight of his sins are far too great to allow him any sort of joy in life. After denying it from countless people by ending their lives, what right does he have to enjoy what he stole away from them?
It would be easy to tell Vergilius to stop caring so much about others and live for himself, but Lobelia knows he can't possibly do that, nor would he be willing to try. Instead, Lobelia falls silent for a time, studying the sorrow lingering in those eyes and carefully brushing Vergilius' hair back behind his ears so he can see him all the more clearly. Happiness, sorrow, pain, frustration... No matter what it is a person feels, when that person is special, their inner turmoil is all the more beautiful.]
Consider, then, acting in the interest of those you care for. You're not so foolish as to think the ones who have worked their way into your heart don't share in your pain when you wear it on your face, do you?
Happiness begets happiness. Pain begets pain. Would it not wound you to see the ones you love wearing sorrowful expressions?
[Now that sends something crushing and painful into his expression - already vulnerable, now its easy to see for someone who has come into his life, tormented him, joined in union with him, killed him, become his partner, all within such a short period of time.]
[The children weren't happy because of the things I brought. They wanted to see me smile, because it was so rare-]
...I wouldn't, no. [He admits, finally letting his eyes move up, slowly. The touch in his hair is soft, too soft. His own embrace of the man squeezes him, slightly.] But there's too much sorrow to erase, Lobelia.
[...It seems no amount of happiness can shield him from the look of agony on Vergilius' face. It puts a damper on Lobelia's smile, but doesn't that serve to underscore his point? Lobelia stole his way into Vergilius' heart, stormed in uninvited and settled to roost, but his feelings are no different than anyone else who has come to care for the man. When he's upset, Lobelia feels the nettling sting of his pain just as well.]
Absurditรฉ, Vergilius. The weight of sin lies within your heart and nowhere else. If anyone has the capacitรฉ to forgive them and make the most of what life remains to you, it is you alone.
[Lobelia never believed the gods could save man from their own folly. Why make such imperfect creatures only to demand they take to their knees to beg forgiveness for their imperfect actions? As humans do, the gods only act in their own interests, so that's all the more reason to resist succumbing to repentance and living life fully aware that sinning is inevitable. Lobelia won't expect Vergilius to bask in his wrongs, but isn't it pointless to carry on existing while refusing to truly live?]
You've lived your life in the service of others. You've lived selflessly, yet it's selfish to deny others a chance to grant you the happiness you've shown them. Going by your own logic... isn't that rather self-centered?
[That's why his EGO is as it is. The endless sea of blood. It comes in the form of a mantle, a laurel of thorns, a stream of bloody tears. A representation of the pain of so many that he's had to bear, like Atlas holding up the world.]
[He knew a time where it didn't matter. And then it came crushing down, because he saw the children of that horrific City, and a part of him wanted to shield them from whatever the world threw at them. At the same time, he was responsible for that misfortune. What right did he have to make such a decision?]
[That orphanage was also his selfish wish. He remembered thinking that, with that voice. There's no true selflessness. It isn't as if he is a robot, acting mindlessly. In the end, their happiness was his wish, too, and then it all came crashing down.]
[One less pretense to wear, Red Gaze.]
..... [His eyebrows are furrowed, eyes flickering like a candle light in the darkness.] I don't know. I suppose it is. I guess I'm the most selfish soul out there.
[Another sigh, shuddering.]
I'm too used to this, Lobelia. I don't know...how else to manage it.
[He feels that sorrow cut deep like a serrated blade, a curious, novel sort of pain that isn't the least bit pleasurable. He owes Vergilius all of himself, his heart included, for guiding him to true happiness, but the consequence is the very same one he'd just just explained to Vergilius: love cuts both ways.
He can speak to his words through experience now, but there's a difference between savoring the sounds of another's pain and feeling their unhappiness as if it were your own. Lobelia isn't a fan of the latter, and selfish as he is, he'll gut Vergilius of that sorrow so it can't impede either of them more than it already has. As with so many decisions Lobelia makes on his own, this one is not up for debate.]
You will learn one step at a time, as everyone does when learning something new. Bad habits are not easily shaken off, but even an old dog can learn new tricks.
[It's about time they get out of the lake before they prune, but before that, Lobelia yanks Vergilius in close and squeezes him tightly. That's the nature of his love, so all encompassing as to be choking and restrictive, but it's as Vergilius said: he knows nothing of restraint. If this is what it takes to make his point, he'll squeeze Vergilius to death over and over again.]
Who is it you care for most? When you return home, treat them to a smile. A genuine one! Don't sneer as you're so fond of doing.
[An exhale of a laugh at the "old dog" comment. Yeah. That's him. Old, worn down, weary, and yet still moving - well, even if he's dead. This is still "life", in a sense.]
[He's held tightly. He knows now Lobelia will never let go. Through hell and high waters, this is how it is, and how it always will be. Lobelia is a fool for thinking he can erode the cliff of misery, but perhaps that's the only kind of person who can manage such a thing. It makes his own heart hurt all the more for it.]
[He might not wake up the next morning with all that regret behind him, in an instant, but perhaps it is one step at a time. The light in the distance, that star, burning a little brighter. Perhaps he will never get into heaven. At least he can shoot for purgatory, for limbo, and be freed of the fires of the Inferno.]
[He relents with a shift of his own arms to hold the other close.[
...I'll do my best. [He finally says, quietly. A tilt of his head, and he's pressing his lips against the other's cheek, below his eye - his eyelashes flutter against Lobelia's damp forehead, like butterflies.] Maybe this old dog can smile, too.
[This is progress, incremental as it is, but Lobelia doesn't expect someone in Vergilius' position to shove aside years of trauma and grief in an instant. There's the possibility he'll backslide as well, struggling to hold onto something as slippery and intangible as his own happiness, but over time, he'll be able to grasp it without it slipping from his fingers.
As it is now, Lobelia sees his willingness to try as a victory in and of itself. He leans into that kiss, all too happy to take it, and tips Vergilius' chin up to plant one firmly on his lips. His own happiness is as hot and blinding as the sun, but if anyone can withstand the burn, it's Vergilius.]
That's the spirit! One doesn't accomplish anything without trying. Should you struggle or fall behind, mon amour, I'll be there to lift you back up!
[Ah, but speaking of lifting. Better watch it, Vergie, or Lobelia will sweep you right off your feet and into his arms to exit the lake. Hm. Perhaps he could've dragged Vergilius into the lake if he truly desired to? It is a mystery.]
[That's right. This is already a step he never thought he would take. Lobelia is so irritating that way, making him think about things that he thought were off limits. Terrible, terrible Lobelia.]
Will you, now.
[He says it in a way that's a little disbelieving, though more in a teasing way than an actual roll of the eyes way. The kiss is briefly returned, and he's ready to pull back to shake his head like a shaggy dog to get rid of the water-]
[When he's suddenly being lifted. Hey. Huh. What.]
......?!
[HE'S ACTUALLY LEGIT SURPRISED WHAT IS HAPPENING he's grasping onto Lobelia's shoulders in a bit of a shocked instinctual panic, as if expecting the man to just drop him right then and there.]
[Look how strong he is! Praise him!! These arms are for lifting wives, not dragging them into lakes. Lobelia does have to adjust his grip on Vergilius once they exit the lake, but to his credit, he doesn't drop him on the ground. Seriously, he'll take that praise at any time, let him have it.]
Hm! You're a touch lighter than you look. Don't skip any meals, mon amour, or I'll have to feed you myself.
[Hope you like seafood and pasta, Verg. Lobelia will happily carry him all the way back to their clothing pile if he allows him to.]
[Sorry, he is still literally so astonished right now. This has never happened to him. What the fuck.]
[The annoyance is setting in, though its more because he really didn't expect to be in this position whatsoever, and he's still going WHAT THE HELLLL in his own mind. At least he's not making Lobelia put him down?]
How...? You look like you'd break carrying a large log for too long.
Heh-ahaha! Is that so? I work out every day, I'll have you know!
[Only for the purpose of looking good when he catches sight of himself in the mirror, but muscle is muscle, isn't it? When they reach their clothes, Lobelia sets Vergilius down on his feet.]
I simply don't see a need to rely on my physical strength when I can accomplish so much more through the power of audiomancy.
[Why so irritated, old man? After he went through the effort of carrying him all the way here... but it's fine! Lobelia picks up Verg's pants and hands them to him. They seem mostly clean, unlike his poor stained robes.]
Why else? To look good. Appearances are important, Vergilius!
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C'est froid! Do you not care that I could have died of hypothermia, Vergilius? You truly are a cruel man!
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[The cold of the water seems distant already.]
Perhaps it'll build character. Its definitely not a pleasant way to go. Unless you'd prefer I break your neck again?
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Nosing into the juncture between Vergilius' shoulder and neck, laughter rumbles in Lobelia's throat, hums gently along the other man's skin.]
I would rather not suffer a death that wasn't wrought by your hands. Where is the fun in being subdued by a pool of cold water?
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[The softness of the gesture eases something in his chest, pressing his head against the other's as Lobelia goes for the crook of his neck. It tickles. In response, his index finger scrapes up along the side of the other's neck.]
Mm. [Now his breath is humming in his throat.] It's still by my hands. So savor that. It isn't as if you decided to dump yourself in here.
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That much is true, but I wouldn't be satisfait dying under those conditions. I want your hands on me, mon amour. Something so indirect as freezing to death could never please me.
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[Another little sigh graces his lips as he presses them almost casually against the side of the man's head.]
One would think you're just too excited for me to get my hands on you in general. You need to practice some restraint. Do you even know what that word means?
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Would that make you happy?
[Lobelia is fine with their arrangement just as it is. Still, in his ongoing effort to honor mutuality, it's important that he isn't the only one who feels such. If you asked him, his partner is simply unused to this sort of easy, open affection, and maybe that's something that needs to change.]
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[Happy. Again, that omnipresent word that has haunted them since they met. He thought he never deserved happiness. It was something to be glimpsed, not obtained.]
[He holds Lobelia close, this warm, bloodthirsty flower of a man. Everything is too new to be comfortable with.]
...I don't know.
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[That may be the more important question here. Vergilius is unused to affection, no doubt thinking himself undeserving of it, but that line of thought isn't enough to deter Lobelia. Vergilius will surely acclimate in time, adaptable as he is, but he won't without a desire to.
Lobelia loosens his hold on him enough to lean back and meet him eye to eye.]
It's a bit frightening, non? I lack the words to describe the feeling, but I felt as much myself earlier. It's nouveau, and that's what makes it so troublesome to come to grips with.
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[Of course its frightening. When you have lost everyone you cared for, what is the point in caring again? He may look after that young lady at home in his own way, but even he won't get too close. He's too skittish. A feral dog who can't adjust to domestic life without wanting to bite the hand that feeds it for the sake of saving himself pain.]
... [His eyes are not meeting the other's.] Self satisfaction is...something out of reach for me. For good reason.
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Yet you let people like me burrow under your skin and take root. I doubt I am the first.
[It's alright if Vergilius can't manage to meet his gaze. It wasn't that long ago that Lobelia couldn't manage the same, equally paralyzed by the need to keep his emotions in check and keep those roots from spreading.]
"Le cลur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaรฎt point." Basically... the heart has its own reasons that your mind can't comprehend. You may desire to keep others at a distance, but what you desire and what you need are two different things. It isn't selfish to care for oneself, you know.
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...
[He always keep returning to that moment. A warm voice. A temptation. It would be so easy to dwell in his own desires, and care less about the world around him. But that way led to distortion, both literal and not. He told the voice it was a coward. He would keep going, and end up in his own well, with no desire to stoke, well, his own desire.]
[So he's stuck. Lobelia's words hit him, and he still continues to gaze away at the flowing water between them.]
I said no to...selfishness before. It doesn't feel right. After everything I've done...I should deny myself that option.
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It would be easy to tell Vergilius to stop caring so much about others and live for himself, but Lobelia knows he can't possibly do that, nor would he be willing to try. Instead, Lobelia falls silent for a time, studying the sorrow lingering in those eyes and carefully brushing Vergilius' hair back behind his ears so he can see him all the more clearly. Happiness, sorrow, pain, frustration... No matter what it is a person feels, when that person is special, their inner turmoil is all the more beautiful.]
Consider, then, acting in the interest of those you care for. You're not so foolish as to think the ones who have worked their way into your heart don't share in your pain when you wear it on your face, do you?
Happiness begets happiness. Pain begets pain. Would it not wound you to see the ones you love wearing sorrowful expressions?
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[Now that sends something crushing and painful into his expression - already vulnerable, now its easy to see for someone who has come into his life, tormented him, joined in union with him, killed him, become his partner, all within such a short period of time.]
[The children weren't happy because of the things I brought. They wanted to see me smile, because it was so rare-]
...I wouldn't, no. [He admits, finally letting his eyes move up, slowly. The touch in his hair is soft, too soft. His own embrace of the man squeezes him, slightly.] But there's too much sorrow to erase, Lobelia.
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Absurditรฉ, Vergilius. The weight of sin lies within your heart and nowhere else. If anyone has the capacitรฉ to forgive them and make the most of what life remains to you, it is you alone.
[Lobelia never believed the gods could save man from their own folly. Why make such imperfect creatures only to demand they take to their knees to beg forgiveness for their imperfect actions? As humans do, the gods only act in their own interests, so that's all the more reason to resist succumbing to repentance and living life fully aware that sinning is inevitable. Lobelia won't expect Vergilius to bask in his wrongs, but isn't it pointless to carry on existing while refusing to truly live?]
You've lived your life in the service of others. You've lived selflessly, yet it's selfish to deny others a chance to grant you the happiness you've shown them. Going by your own logic... isn't that rather self-centered?
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[I can't.]
[That's why his EGO is as it is. The endless sea of blood. It comes in the form of a mantle, a laurel of thorns, a stream of bloody tears. A representation of the pain of so many that he's had to bear, like Atlas holding up the world.]
[He knew a time where it didn't matter. And then it came crushing down, because he saw the children of that horrific City, and a part of him wanted to shield them from whatever the world threw at them. At the same time, he was responsible for that misfortune. What right did he have to make such a decision?]
[That orphanage was also his selfish wish. He remembered thinking that, with that voice. There's no true selflessness. It isn't as if he is a robot, acting mindlessly. In the end, their happiness was his wish, too, and then it all came crashing down.]
[One less pretense to wear, Red Gaze.]
..... [His eyebrows are furrowed, eyes flickering like a candle light in the darkness.] I don't know. I suppose it is. I guess I'm the most selfish soul out there.
[Another sigh, shuddering.]
I'm too used to this, Lobelia. I don't know...how else to manage it.
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He can speak to his words through experience now, but there's a difference between savoring the sounds of another's pain and feeling their unhappiness as if it were your own. Lobelia isn't a fan of the latter, and selfish as he is, he'll gut Vergilius of that sorrow so it can't impede either of them more than it already has. As with so many decisions Lobelia makes on his own, this one is not up for debate.]
You will learn one step at a time, as everyone does when learning something new. Bad habits are not easily shaken off, but even an old dog can learn new tricks.
[It's about time they get out of the lake before they prune, but before that, Lobelia yanks Vergilius in close and squeezes him tightly. That's the nature of his love, so all encompassing as to be choking and restrictive, but it's as Vergilius said: he knows nothing of restraint. If this is what it takes to make his point, he'll squeeze Vergilius to death over and over again.]
Who is it you care for most? When you return home, treat them to a smile. A genuine one! Don't sneer as you're so fond of doing.
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[An exhale of a laugh at the "old dog" comment. Yeah. That's him. Old, worn down, weary, and yet still moving - well, even if he's dead. This is still "life", in a sense.]
[He's held tightly. He knows now Lobelia will never let go. Through hell and high waters, this is how it is, and how it always will be. Lobelia is a fool for thinking he can erode the cliff of misery, but perhaps that's the only kind of person who can manage such a thing. It makes his own heart hurt all the more for it.]
[He might not wake up the next morning with all that regret behind him, in an instant, but perhaps it is one step at a time. The light in the distance, that star, burning a little brighter. Perhaps he will never get into heaven. At least he can shoot for purgatory, for limbo, and be freed of the fires of the Inferno.]
[He relents with a shift of his own arms to hold the other close.[
...I'll do my best. [He finally says, quietly. A tilt of his head, and he's pressing his lips against the other's cheek, below his eye - his eyelashes flutter against Lobelia's damp forehead, like butterflies.] Maybe this old dog can smile, too.
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As it is now, Lobelia sees his willingness to try as a victory in and of itself. He leans into that kiss, all too happy to take it, and tips Vergilius' chin up to plant one firmly on his lips. His own happiness is as hot and blinding as the sun, but if anyone can withstand the burn, it's Vergilius.]
That's the spirit! One doesn't accomplish anything without trying. Should you struggle or fall behind, mon amour, I'll be there to lift you back up!
[Ah, but speaking of lifting. Better watch it, Vergie, or Lobelia will sweep you right off your feet and into his arms to exit the lake. Hm. Perhaps he could've dragged Vergilius into the lake if he truly desired to? It is a mystery.]
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Will you, now.
[He says it in a way that's a little disbelieving, though more in a teasing way than an actual roll of the eyes way. The kiss is briefly returned, and he's ready to pull back to shake his head like a shaggy dog to get rid of the water-]
[When he's suddenly being lifted. Hey. Huh. What.]
......?!
[HE'S ACTUALLY LEGIT SURPRISED WHAT IS HAPPENING he's grasping onto Lobelia's shoulders in a bit of a shocked instinctual panic, as if expecting the man to just drop him right then and there.]
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Hm! You're a touch lighter than you look. Don't skip any meals, mon amour, or I'll have to feed you myself.
[Hope you like seafood and pasta, Verg. Lobelia will happily carry him all the way back to their clothing pile if he allows him to.]
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[Sorry, he is still literally so astonished right now. This has never happened to him. What the fuck.]
[The annoyance is setting in, though its more because he really didn't expect to be in this position whatsoever, and he's still going WHAT THE HELLLL in his own mind. At least he's not making Lobelia put him down?]
How...? You look like you'd break carrying a large log for too long.
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[Only for the purpose of looking good when he catches sight of himself in the mirror, but muscle is muscle, isn't it? When they reach their clothes, Lobelia sets Vergilius down on his feet.]
I simply don't see a need to rely on my physical strength when I can accomplish so much more through the power of audiomancy.
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So what do you even do it, for? Seems like a waste of time when you rely on one thing over another.
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Why else? To look good. Appearances are important, Vergilius!
[No sense in lying about it. He's vain.]
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