That receptive joyfulness hit me like a train when I woke, though if getting plowed down by a freight engine really DID feel that good, I would've done it long before then.
--
"My real surname is written on the board." He had penned the letters 'A-E-N-E-I-D' on its surface in a sharp, liquid script. "But, given that the majority of students here are so uneducated that they would be unable to pronounce even the first syllable correctly—" his face remained unfettered by emotion despite the offense "—I will be forced to use my mother's maiden name during class." He continued on as if he hadn't insulted us.
--
The rest of his request didn't register. The only thing I could think of was what he'd called "Redgrave."
Vergil, I thought.
The 'V' stood for VERGIL. The historical connection between his sur and given names suddenly clicked.
The name of the poet who wrote the 'Aeneid,' his name was Vergil! This guy, his real surname's Aeneid, and his first is VERGIL! Vergil Aeneid? Were his parents literary NUTS to name their kid THAT? For some reason, the whole thing struck my historian side of me as funny—outrageously so. I began to chuckle under my breath, then shake with the effort of penning it inside. Finally, I couldn't hold it in any longer: I began to laugh, great peals of sound that echoed throughout room. Through tear-seeping eyes I saw the object of my mirth look at me, saw Principal Clark staring open-mouthed, saw the classmates gawking at me quizzically, and finally saw the horrified look on Ami's face. I pillowed my head in my arms, unable to stop.
Vergil Aeneid.
Vergil AENEID!"Something funny?"
I looked up. Aeneid—Redgrave, whatever his name was—was regarding me coolly. I caught my hiccupping breath, then choked out: "BITCH of a name, Aeneid. Bet your parents sure did LOVE fine literature."
--
The subject of my skirt length had come up again, and I had gotten so royally pissed I was unable to see straight, and had yelled a rather nasty thought of mine aloud:
Something along the lines of "Fuck you, pervert," to be exact.
I had watched his pale, high-boned cheeks turned a VERY delicate shade of pink and had realized I was in for it. I had never, not once, seen him blush. Not
one time. Here he was, though, turning a color quite unnatural for his disposition, and I was going to be on the receiving end of whatever it foreshadowed.
--
"If you don't want—"
"It's a deal."
His eyes snapped to mine, surprised by my ready acceptance.
"But we'll have to have these sessions every other day," I said firmly, though my voice still shook slightly. "So I can go to the library more often."
He nodded. "As long as I am still allowed to take you home every day."
"Of course," I said.
"And the days we meet are to be the ones you don't have class with me, so I can see you every day," he said casually.
"And you have to grade fairly," I blurted. "No more taking off for handwriting."
His eyes glittered with unexpected mirth. "Handwriting, which, may I add, is abysmal."
--
"Aeneid and I came to terms." I said. Their faces looked confused.
"Came to... terms?" Karen asked. "You said 'terms,' right? Not 'blows?'" I grinned at her.
--
I was looking at my first demon, though at the time I didn't know it.
I turned to Aeneid.
"Okay." I said, clearing my throat. "Into the car it is."
--
He looked more happy than I'd ever seen him, though somehow grave, and my thoughts of him being insane totally vanished.
Because if he was the insane one, then what in the world was I?
--
"What about you?" I had asked as he positioned the hat on my skull with his gloved hands. "They'll notice you're gone."
"I resigned yesterday when I sensed that demon." He explained, eyes averted. "I told them I was getting married and moving out of state."
I decided not to comment.
--
"I am older than I appear."
"Well, that explains the hair."
"I'm not that old." He replied, miffed. "This is how my hair has always been."
--
"There's a bookshop across the street." He said as I sat in the lavender-scented waiting room with four older women, who were all eyeing Vergil with rather predatory interest. "I'll meet you there when you finish, okay, Jianna? I already paid, so you do not need to worry about–"
"Okay, Mom." I said sarcastically, aware of the other ladies' scrutiny. "I'll get somebody to hold my hand when I cross the street, I promise." One of his eyebrows shot up.
"Please do." He smirked. "And don't get lost." He promptly turned and left the building, attracting stares as he went.
--
"Jira!" He rasped. "You are–"
"Late!" I replied, gasping. "I took longer than 20 minutes, I know, I know!" He looked at me, shocked.
"Late?" He asked. "Late?" He grit his teeth. "Those are the least of my worries! You're bleeding!"
"I think my ankle's broken, too." I said cheerfully, though still in pain.
--
"It's not proper to have you go to some strange boy's house without a chaperone." His voice was patronizing.
"Hypocrite." I sniffed.
"... just what is that supposed to mean?" He asked slowly.
"Think, Sherlock... I live with you."
"That's different!" He growled, appalled. I laughed.
"Sure." I grinned into the mouth piece, knowing I had struck gold. "Whatever you say, Verge."
--
"Ow!"
"If you didn't squirm so much–"
"It still would hurt either way, genius!"
--
"Wake up, Jira."
It was –who else–Vergil.
"... no..." I mumbled weakly.
"Jira, it's noon. It's time for you to get up." He said patronizingly.
"I said NO!" I chucked a pillow at the door mid-sentence to illustrate my point.
"Jira–"
"I am very well aware of the time and I find it perfectly suitable for sleeping, thank you!" I snapped with renewed vigor.
"Don't make me come in there!" He growled.
"Be my guest, buddy!" I barked back.
From deep within my nest of blankets I heard the doorknob turn, and I bolted upright in bed, screaming:
"NO NO DON'T COME IN– I'M NOT DRESSED VERGIL DON'T COME IN—"
--
"Gravity inverting on itself is not a natural occurrence, Merhusame." Vergil concurred bluntly.
--
It instructed me to 'call up thy power from deep within the innermost reaches of thy being' and 'purge thyself of sentient thought.'
That translates as is 'clear your mind, dumbass, and forget about the gorgeous blue eyes boring into your back by the one person in the world you're trying to not think about.'
Yeah.
That really helped.
---
Quotes from
By Blood Connected by Vir M. I really luffles the story...probably cuz it's a different take on an OC and Vergil...and Jira is funny. That bit where Verge's trying to wake her up is soooooo like whenever people want to wake me up. ._. *hates being woken up* Btw, Aeneid=Vergil, just in case it wasn't, ya know...obvious. >_> (Oh, and the songs I put on my playlist, where I said I was gonna post quotes here in a moment, they're from this fic.)
I like Will...he's funny. >_>
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