[log] Ulquiorra Schiffer, Vergil Sparda
Title: Sword Talk
Characters: Ulquiorra (day_eight), Vergil (gogodgene)
Timeline: April 15, 1950
Rating: PG
Summary: Two opposing sides bond over the only thing they can: weapons of destruction.
========
The first thing that Ulquiorra noticed when he opened the door to the small shop was the strong smell of burning incense. Jasmine, he believed. The thick scent wafted over him and hovered around his head, instantly making him feel sleepy. He inhaled tentatively, slowly getting used to how heavy the smoky air seemed. Blinking, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the new, dimmer lighting.
Once he could see clearly, he let his gaze sweep over the wide variety of items that the store had on display. He did not come to this particular shop very often, but he always enjoyed it when he did. In fact, he would have stopped by more frequently, had it not been for its location. Chinatown was not a place he wanted to visit on a regular basis. It was filled with rotten smells and... trash. No, he was glad that he only needed to visit this shop occasionally.
He walked towards the back of the store, eyeing the various Asian products that lined the shelves. There were figurines, paper fans, live bamboo plants... practically anything Americans would associate with the Orient. However, it was not those items that Ulquiorra had come to see. He had come for something a bit more... authentic.
The consigliere stepped around a set of shelves and made his way over to where the sword-care items were located. He studied the collection of oils and daisho display racks carefully. There was a decent assortment of products, but the item that he needed was not there. Turning to the short, older man behind the counter, Ulquiorra nodded and gestured to the shelf in front of him. "Do you have any whet stones?"
The man replied cheerfully, but the answer did not help Ulquiorra much at all. He was not sure what language the old man had spoken in, but he knew it was definitely not Italian or English. Resisting the urge to repeat his question with the hopes of getting a different response, he simply blinked and went back to looking over the shelves. Perhaps he had simply failed to see the whet stones...
Despite the dank and trashy atmosphere, Vergil was glad he had gotten away. Well, away from his store, anyway. He had left it in the care of one of the Diablos' foot soldiers. A trusty-worthy one. It had been an incredibly boring day, and it was nice to get outside and actually use the muscles he trained religiously. While he was relieved to be getting some fresh air, Vergil wouldn't have left the store if he didn't have something he intended to do. That would be irresponsible. So his excuse for escaping the monotonous environment was traveling to Chinatown for a special pickup.
Yamato was his most precious possession, and while his father had taught him some years back how to take care of the family heirloom, the sword seemed a little dull. The ancient katana was beautiful, and expertly crafted, but Vergil didn't consider it a showpiece.
He put it to work.
So, Yamato was left in the care of an old Japanese man he had met through his own business (the man had been looking to make a bit of extra money, and had begrudgingly sold off something from his family). Somehow, Vergil and the old man had struck up conversation about old-world weaponry and Yamato was brought into the conversation. Long story short, the man turned out to be a smith master and offered to help restore the sword to a better state. Vergil readily agreed.
And now here he was, incense wafting through his nostrils, and comfortable silence drifting over him. Unfortunately, this delightful atmosphere was broken away when he spotted the young, black-haired man scanning the shelves and then turning to the old Japanese gentleman at the desk.
If memory served, this young man was none other than Ulquiorra Schiffer, Aizen's family advisor. Vergil almost considered ignoring the man, or flat out leaving. Unfortunately, good manners won out, and from what he had just seen transpire, Schiffer looked like he could use help (specifically from Vergil, who knew enough Japanese to translate).
"He said they're in the back, on the lowest shelf."
Ulquiorra halted his browsing and turned. He instantly recognized the man before him as Vergil Sparda, head of the Diablos family. Something like wariness coiled in his stomach. Although there was a tentative peace between the Concavos and the Diablos, he never completely trusted anyone from the rival family, let alone their leader. Once an enemy, always an enemy.
However, there was a truce, and Mr. Sparda had been nothing if not polite. The consigliere straightened his shoulders and nodded. "Thank you," he said quietly, making his way over to the mentioned shelf. Sure enough, the whet stones were there, on the shelf nearest the floor.
Crouching down, Ulquiorra looked over the stones, all the while keeping most of his attention on the man behind him. He wondered what kind of business Mr. Sparda had in shop like this. It seemed rude to ask, but remaining completely silent was not very polite, either. Information was his area of expertise, after all, and he could not simply pass up an opportunity to learn a bit more about such an influential member of the Diablos. There was a truce, yes, but one could never know too much.
"What brings you to this area of the city?" he asked, standing up with a whet stone in his grip. His voice was emotionless and calm. He glanced down at the stone in his hand. "One of my katana is a bit dull," he explained.
Vergil was fully aware of the treaty between his group and Aizen's, but he was as apathetic about it. He couldn't even remember who had called the truce and why he had agreed to it. It wasn't as if the Diablos were a bunch of blood thirsty hooligans. During that hazy time of war and bloodshed, his foot soldiers had only done what they were supposed to be doing: protecting him and their territory. Never did any of them go looking for a fight.
As much as some of them would've loved to tear group after group asunder, Vergil prohibited it.
So, it was suffice to say, the white-haired businessman felt no fear or uneasiness by being in the same vicinity as one of Aizen's men. Most of all, Ulquiorra Schiffer. Mr. Schiffer was nothing but intelligent, and wouldn't start anything unnecessary. So, he felt at ease to turn his back on the brunet, and talk to the old man at the counter. And luckily, for him, Yamato was ready to be taken home. He watched as the old man scuttled off into his storage area, and turned when he heard Ulquiorra speak up from behind him.
So, the architect was here for his katana? Interesting...
"It seems that we are both here for similar reasons. Yamato," Oh, he should probably explain that was the name of his blade. It was odd to refer to the sword as what it was, and not its name. "My blade, it was in need of repair. The store owner offered to help me, and all the rest is history. But you have a blade as well? I could never see why an architect such as yourself would ever need one..."
It appeared as if Ulquiorra actually had something in common with the mysterious leader of the Diablos. He shifted his gaze to the store owner before leveling it on Vergil once more. The fact that the man had referred to the blade by a name suggested a close bond between sword and owner. Ulquiorra could appreciate that. Many people found it enjoyable to collect various 'display' models of weapons without really understanding them. He despised anyone who would treat such awe-inspiring items with that kind of flippancy. His own love of swords bordered on an obsession. In fact, it was probably his only obsession that was not directly related to his line of work.
But of course, his knowledge of blades and his skill in the use of them often proved to be beneficial to his job. As consigliere, he deemed it his duty to serve the Concavo family in any way he could - whether with the depths of his intelligence or the edge of his sword. He was sure that Vergil could understand such a thing. They were not completely unalike, even if they were on opposing sides. Each had to keep the best interests of their organizations in mind. Each found swords interesting, in one way or another. Ulquiorra respected Vergil, even without trusting him. Such was the way in crime and power.
"Certainly you could understand collecting swords on the side as a bit of a... hobby," he said, moving to place the whet stone on the counter. "After all, a business man such as yourself might not have any particular use for a blade, hm?"
Vergil couldn't help the bare smirk that decorated his lips. It was such a fun little game, to lead a double life. At least, to Vergil it was. He had told Dante about it, of course, but never his father.
Although, telling the old man would've been a little extreme. After all, he was head of the local FBI unit. He would undoubtedly have to bring his son to justice.
Speaking of the old man...
"I guess the only reason I became so enamoured of Yamato is because it's a family heirloom. Although, I do understand the hobbyist part of it. Of course, even though I have no worldly use for it, I still make time to put it to work. It would be shame for it to sit and collect dust. Which entices me to ask, if you are any good with your blade?"
Ah... a family heirloom. Ulquiorra had a few of those, but they were nowhere near as useful as a blade would be. Italians were not particularly known for their use of swords. His own family heirlooms were meaningless things that he could care less about. Foolish people and their 'objects of sentimental value'... He could not fathom valuing something that he had no use for.
He considered Vergil's question for a moment. Although he was not one to boast, he knew that he was quite skilled with a sword. He aimed for excellence in everything he did, no matter how large or small the task. Over the years he had trained with several instructors and, after adding in his own unique style, he had become quite efficient.
"I am good enough," he replied, taking out his wallet and thumbing through the bills inside. "I suspect that you have some skill, as well?"
It was the first time in a long while that he actually reflected upon his training with the blade. He had never taken any official classes, never figured he had to. His father had always been the one to tutor he and Dante in the ways of swords. Of course, Vergil and Dante also sparred against each other, against their mother's request.
Hospital visits were not rare in the Sparda family.
Eventually, though, the twins were able to control themselves to the point where they could go a good while without hitting each other. But they still came oh-so-very-close.
That was the whole thrill of it all, anyway. Skating the very edge of mutilation and death.
Vergil also found, as he actually began taking classes in Kendo and Fencing, that he was quite good. Which surprised him, but didn't stop him from being a show-off.
The white-haired businessman watched as the old man came back, carrying the familiar black, lacqueware scabbard that housed Yamato's pristine blade. He gave Schiffer a smirk, in regards to the question.
"If I were no good with Yamato, I would never be able to utter its name with a clear conscience." Vergil took his beloved sword from the elderly man, hiding it within the confines of his over coat. It was nice to have the weight secured to his belt once again. He paid the man his due amount, turning to leave the store, but was stopped by an urge, a challenge. He turned to Ulquiorra for the final time.
"Perhaps we should test each other's strengths during another time? It would be nice to be challenged by someone with actual skill."
Ulquiorra casually observed as Vergil accepted the sword from the store's owner. He took in the shiny scabbard, the golden guard, and the silver grip, his face just barely registering a fraction of admiration. It was a beautiful piece. His fingers itched for one of his own blades as he took out a fifty from his wallet and laid it next to the whet stone on the counter.
The consigliere appreciated Vergil's statement. It seemed as if the businessman respected his sword, and that in itself was enough to peak Ulquiorra's curiosity. A person with real skill was certainly hard to come by, and he could not quell the tingle of anticipation that trickled through him at Vergil's question. Test his strength against the leader of the Diablos? His gaze shifted from the man's face to where the sword was concealed beneath the blue over coat. It certainly seemed like a decent proposal...
"I think I would enjoy that," he replied, turning to retrieve his change from the shop keeper's outstretched hand. "A good challenge is always a welcomed thing."
He took the whet stone and placed it inside one of his jacket's pockets before facing Vergil once again. "Shall we set a time and place?"
Vergil hadn't felt this elated in a long time. Testing his strength against someone who almost shared the same footing as he.
Surely it was a tad irresponsible to be challenging the consigliere of the Concavos, but it was also a good opportunity to gauge himself after so long. Never mind the fact that if a war ever broke out between Aizen and Vergil, the latter might not have that much trouble actually going about invading Sousuke's ranks.
All in all, a win-win situation. For Vergil, anyway.
He smiled a bit.
"I suppose the ideal place would be my residence at 666 Lexington Ave. I don't have a way of writing it down, but I would pleased if you could remember to be there a week from day by 5:30. I shall humbly await your challenge, until then." Vergil turned to leave.
"Please don't forgot this is a simple match. We wouldn't want you to get ahead of yourself."
With that, he was gone.
Ulquiorra already knew the location of Vergil's residence. It was his job to know such details, after all. He found the address appropriately fitting for the leader of the Diablos. "I shall be there," he replied, bowing his head slightly as the man turned away.
Despite his bored expression, the brunet was actually looking forward to the match. Fighting someone was one of the surest ways to learn more about them. How a man used his sword told a great deal about his personality - a great deal that could not be leaned through simple conversation or observation. Ulquiorra was grateful to have an opportunity to learn more about Mr. Sparda. Information was often the factor that could make the difference between a defeat or a triumph. If the Diablos and the Concavos ever went to war, the consigliere would be able to use what he would learn to Aizen's advantage.
He felt his eyebrow quirk at the man's last statement. It was not likely that he would ever get ahead of himself. Although he liked to be prepared for the worst, he was not going to take the match for anything more than it was. Overestimating something was almost as bad as underestimating it.
Staring at the spot where Vergil had once stood, Ulquiorra waited a moment before making his own exit. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the thick scent of incense before stepping out onto the street. The smells outside were rotten, and he limited his breathing as much as he could until he was far away from that area of the city.
Characters: Ulquiorra (day_eight), Vergil (gogodgene)
Timeline: April 15, 1950
Rating: PG
Summary: Two opposing sides bond over the only thing they can: weapons of destruction.
========
The first thing that Ulquiorra noticed when he opened the door to the small shop was the strong smell of burning incense. Jasmine, he believed. The thick scent wafted over him and hovered around his head, instantly making him feel sleepy. He inhaled tentatively, slowly getting used to how heavy the smoky air seemed. Blinking, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the new, dimmer lighting.
Once he could see clearly, he let his gaze sweep over the wide variety of items that the store had on display. He did not come to this particular shop very often, but he always enjoyed it when he did. In fact, he would have stopped by more frequently, had it not been for its location. Chinatown was not a place he wanted to visit on a regular basis. It was filled with rotten smells and... trash. No, he was glad that he only needed to visit this shop occasionally.
He walked towards the back of the store, eyeing the various Asian products that lined the shelves. There were figurines, paper fans, live bamboo plants... practically anything Americans would associate with the Orient. However, it was not those items that Ulquiorra had come to see. He had come for something a bit more... authentic.
The consigliere stepped around a set of shelves and made his way over to where the sword-care items were located. He studied the collection of oils and daisho display racks carefully. There was a decent assortment of products, but the item that he needed was not there. Turning to the short, older man behind the counter, Ulquiorra nodded and gestured to the shelf in front of him. "Do you have any whet stones?"
The man replied cheerfully, but the answer did not help Ulquiorra much at all. He was not sure what language the old man had spoken in, but he knew it was definitely not Italian or English. Resisting the urge to repeat his question with the hopes of getting a different response, he simply blinked and went back to looking over the shelves. Perhaps he had simply failed to see the whet stones...
Despite the dank and trashy atmosphere, Vergil was glad he had gotten away. Well, away from his store, anyway. He had left it in the care of one of the Diablos' foot soldiers. A trusty-worthy one. It had been an incredibly boring day, and it was nice to get outside and actually use the muscles he trained religiously. While he was relieved to be getting some fresh air, Vergil wouldn't have left the store if he didn't have something he intended to do. That would be irresponsible. So his excuse for escaping the monotonous environment was traveling to Chinatown for a special pickup.
Yamato was his most precious possession, and while his father had taught him some years back how to take care of the family heirloom, the sword seemed a little dull. The ancient katana was beautiful, and expertly crafted, but Vergil didn't consider it a showpiece.
He put it to work.
So, Yamato was left in the care of an old Japanese man he had met through his own business (the man had been looking to make a bit of extra money, and had begrudgingly sold off something from his family). Somehow, Vergil and the old man had struck up conversation about old-world weaponry and Yamato was brought into the conversation. Long story short, the man turned out to be a smith master and offered to help restore the sword to a better state. Vergil readily agreed.
And now here he was, incense wafting through his nostrils, and comfortable silence drifting over him. Unfortunately, this delightful atmosphere was broken away when he spotted the young, black-haired man scanning the shelves and then turning to the old Japanese gentleman at the desk.
If memory served, this young man was none other than Ulquiorra Schiffer, Aizen's family advisor. Vergil almost considered ignoring the man, or flat out leaving. Unfortunately, good manners won out, and from what he had just seen transpire, Schiffer looked like he could use help (specifically from Vergil, who knew enough Japanese to translate).
"He said they're in the back, on the lowest shelf."
Ulquiorra halted his browsing and turned. He instantly recognized the man before him as Vergil Sparda, head of the Diablos family. Something like wariness coiled in his stomach. Although there was a tentative peace between the Concavos and the Diablos, he never completely trusted anyone from the rival family, let alone their leader. Once an enemy, always an enemy.
However, there was a truce, and Mr. Sparda had been nothing if not polite. The consigliere straightened his shoulders and nodded. "Thank you," he said quietly, making his way over to the mentioned shelf. Sure enough, the whet stones were there, on the shelf nearest the floor.
Crouching down, Ulquiorra looked over the stones, all the while keeping most of his attention on the man behind him. He wondered what kind of business Mr. Sparda had in shop like this. It seemed rude to ask, but remaining completely silent was not very polite, either. Information was his area of expertise, after all, and he could not simply pass up an opportunity to learn a bit more about such an influential member of the Diablos. There was a truce, yes, but one could never know too much.
"What brings you to this area of the city?" he asked, standing up with a whet stone in his grip. His voice was emotionless and calm. He glanced down at the stone in his hand. "One of my katana is a bit dull," he explained.
Vergil was fully aware of the treaty between his group and Aizen's, but he was as apathetic about it. He couldn't even remember who had called the truce and why he had agreed to it. It wasn't as if the Diablos were a bunch of blood thirsty hooligans. During that hazy time of war and bloodshed, his foot soldiers had only done what they were supposed to be doing: protecting him and their territory. Never did any of them go looking for a fight.
As much as some of them would've loved to tear group after group asunder, Vergil prohibited it.
So, it was suffice to say, the white-haired businessman felt no fear or uneasiness by being in the same vicinity as one of Aizen's men. Most of all, Ulquiorra Schiffer. Mr. Schiffer was nothing but intelligent, and wouldn't start anything unnecessary. So, he felt at ease to turn his back on the brunet, and talk to the old man at the counter. And luckily, for him, Yamato was ready to be taken home. He watched as the old man scuttled off into his storage area, and turned when he heard Ulquiorra speak up from behind him.
So, the architect was here for his katana? Interesting...
"It seems that we are both here for similar reasons. Yamato," Oh, he should probably explain that was the name of his blade. It was odd to refer to the sword as what it was, and not its name. "My blade, it was in need of repair. The store owner offered to help me, and all the rest is history. But you have a blade as well? I could never see why an architect such as yourself would ever need one..."
It appeared as if Ulquiorra actually had something in common with the mysterious leader of the Diablos. He shifted his gaze to the store owner before leveling it on Vergil once more. The fact that the man had referred to the blade by a name suggested a close bond between sword and owner. Ulquiorra could appreciate that. Many people found it enjoyable to collect various 'display' models of weapons without really understanding them. He despised anyone who would treat such awe-inspiring items with that kind of flippancy. His own love of swords bordered on an obsession. In fact, it was probably his only obsession that was not directly related to his line of work.
But of course, his knowledge of blades and his skill in the use of them often proved to be beneficial to his job. As consigliere, he deemed it his duty to serve the Concavo family in any way he could - whether with the depths of his intelligence or the edge of his sword. He was sure that Vergil could understand such a thing. They were not completely unalike, even if they were on opposing sides. Each had to keep the best interests of their organizations in mind. Each found swords interesting, in one way or another. Ulquiorra respected Vergil, even without trusting him. Such was the way in crime and power.
"Certainly you could understand collecting swords on the side as a bit of a... hobby," he said, moving to place the whet stone on the counter. "After all, a business man such as yourself might not have any particular use for a blade, hm?"
Vergil couldn't help the bare smirk that decorated his lips. It was such a fun little game, to lead a double life. At least, to Vergil it was. He had told Dante about it, of course, but never his father.
Although, telling the old man would've been a little extreme. After all, he was head of the local FBI unit. He would undoubtedly have to bring his son to justice.
Speaking of the old man...
"I guess the only reason I became so enamoured of Yamato is because it's a family heirloom. Although, I do understand the hobbyist part of it. Of course, even though I have no worldly use for it, I still make time to put it to work. It would be shame for it to sit and collect dust. Which entices me to ask, if you are any good with your blade?"
Ah... a family heirloom. Ulquiorra had a few of those, but they were nowhere near as useful as a blade would be. Italians were not particularly known for their use of swords. His own family heirlooms were meaningless things that he could care less about. Foolish people and their 'objects of sentimental value'... He could not fathom valuing something that he had no use for.
He considered Vergil's question for a moment. Although he was not one to boast, he knew that he was quite skilled with a sword. He aimed for excellence in everything he did, no matter how large or small the task. Over the years he had trained with several instructors and, after adding in his own unique style, he had become quite efficient.
"I am good enough," he replied, taking out his wallet and thumbing through the bills inside. "I suspect that you have some skill, as well?"
It was the first time in a long while that he actually reflected upon his training with the blade. He had never taken any official classes, never figured he had to. His father had always been the one to tutor he and Dante in the ways of swords. Of course, Vergil and Dante also sparred against each other, against their mother's request.
Hospital visits were not rare in the Sparda family.
Eventually, though, the twins were able to control themselves to the point where they could go a good while without hitting each other. But they still came oh-so-very-close.
That was the whole thrill of it all, anyway. Skating the very edge of mutilation and death.
Vergil also found, as he actually began taking classes in Kendo and Fencing, that he was quite good. Which surprised him, but didn't stop him from being a show-off.
The white-haired businessman watched as the old man came back, carrying the familiar black, lacqueware scabbard that housed Yamato's pristine blade. He gave Schiffer a smirk, in regards to the question.
"If I were no good with Yamato, I would never be able to utter its name with a clear conscience." Vergil took his beloved sword from the elderly man, hiding it within the confines of his over coat. It was nice to have the weight secured to his belt once again. He paid the man his due amount, turning to leave the store, but was stopped by an urge, a challenge. He turned to Ulquiorra for the final time.
"Perhaps we should test each other's strengths during another time? It would be nice to be challenged by someone with actual skill."
Ulquiorra casually observed as Vergil accepted the sword from the store's owner. He took in the shiny scabbard, the golden guard, and the silver grip, his face just barely registering a fraction of admiration. It was a beautiful piece. His fingers itched for one of his own blades as he took out a fifty from his wallet and laid it next to the whet stone on the counter.
The consigliere appreciated Vergil's statement. It seemed as if the businessman respected his sword, and that in itself was enough to peak Ulquiorra's curiosity. A person with real skill was certainly hard to come by, and he could not quell the tingle of anticipation that trickled through him at Vergil's question. Test his strength against the leader of the Diablos? His gaze shifted from the man's face to where the sword was concealed beneath the blue over coat. It certainly seemed like a decent proposal...
"I think I would enjoy that," he replied, turning to retrieve his change from the shop keeper's outstretched hand. "A good challenge is always a welcomed thing."
He took the whet stone and placed it inside one of his jacket's pockets before facing Vergil once again. "Shall we set a time and place?"
Vergil hadn't felt this elated in a long time. Testing his strength against someone who almost shared the same footing as he.
Surely it was a tad irresponsible to be challenging the consigliere of the Concavos, but it was also a good opportunity to gauge himself after so long. Never mind the fact that if a war ever broke out between Aizen and Vergil, the latter might not have that much trouble actually going about invading Sousuke's ranks.
All in all, a win-win situation. For Vergil, anyway.
He smiled a bit.
"I suppose the ideal place would be my residence at 666 Lexington Ave. I don't have a way of writing it down, but I would pleased if you could remember to be there a week from day by 5:30. I shall humbly await your challenge, until then." Vergil turned to leave.
"Please don't forgot this is a simple match. We wouldn't want you to get ahead of yourself."
With that, he was gone.
Ulquiorra already knew the location of Vergil's residence. It was his job to know such details, after all. He found the address appropriately fitting for the leader of the Diablos. "I shall be there," he replied, bowing his head slightly as the man turned away.
Despite his bored expression, the brunet was actually looking forward to the match. Fighting someone was one of the surest ways to learn more about them. How a man used his sword told a great deal about his personality - a great deal that could not be leaned through simple conversation or observation. Ulquiorra was grateful to have an opportunity to learn more about Mr. Sparda. Information was often the factor that could make the difference between a defeat or a triumph. If the Diablos and the Concavos ever went to war, the consigliere would be able to use what he would learn to Aizen's advantage.
He felt his eyebrow quirk at the man's last statement. It was not likely that he would ever get ahead of himself. Although he liked to be prepared for the worst, he was not going to take the match for anything more than it was. Overestimating something was almost as bad as underestimating it.
Staring at the spot where Vergil had once stood, Ulquiorra waited a moment before making his own exit. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the thick scent of incense before stepping out onto the street. The smells outside were rotten, and he limited his breathing as much as he could until he was far away from that area of the city.