If Dante was the sun, Vergil was the moon. They looked the same before time was distorted with Vergil's fall and Dante's years. Now he looked like the younger smaller version of Dante. Something felt off about ti to him, granted he pretty much thinks he is nearly perfect even if he despises his human blood, he'd never purge it even given the choice, because it was his mothers blood. He carried his idea of imperfection out of simple sentiment. Even after bitching at Dante about being sentimental.

He pushed up, the necklace left with his tea on the table by the chair. "Hand me Ebony, you take up Ivory. We should go out to the wild. Do you know a place?" He asked her as he pulled his coat on. "It is simple once you get the basic jist down."