Fiammetta blinked as she glanced up from her phone, swiping away the salvos of notifications sent by Patrizion, also known as Mr. Pozzo by the majority of her friends. Speaking of friends, it just so happened to be that one of them was listlessly sitting on a local park bench, holding his cane as if he had been stricken by the quails of old age.
V? she thought in her mind, scrunching her brows when looking at his demeanor. Unable to hold in her confusion and curiosity, she walked up to him, attracting his attention.
"Hey... what's up with you today?" Fiammetta crossed her arms when reaching him, fixated solely to the white-haired man benched at the park.
"Nothing. Nothing at all," he mirthlessly said, bags underneath his eyes as he tapped his finger restlessly, agitation most evident amongst his emotions.
She was left at a pause when seeing how obvious his lie was, not being sold on his words at all. "If you need more sleep—I know damn well you do—then what're you doing at the park? The benches are uncomfortable and nasty to rest on. Go try the interior ones."
"...A fair assessment." V slumped with a sigh, attempting to appease her with a half-hearted statement. "But I'm afraid I'll pass."
Fiammetta huffed. "Jeez. Well, your loss, not mine. Don't blame me when you actually need that cane when you grow up." She paused for a moment as she received no response, as if attempting to think of something else. "...Say, have you eaten anything yet—"
"Quell your worries, please. I'll be fine," V interrupted, an insurmountable certainty in his words. "I believe you should be more wary of your own diet, if you understand what I'm implying."
Her eyebrow twitched, adorning a demeanor forecasting angry black clouds. "Clamp it."
"Peace, Fiammetta, peace. You are far too young to develop creases now." That bastard let the faintest smirk appear on his lips.
Ah, how could she have forgotten? He was also one fine button pusher. "Alright, V, you're coming with me. Whether you like it or not."
"Pardon?" He raised an eyebrow, but looked surprised when she grabbed his arm, pulling him up.
"Come on, have you eaten breakfast yet?" she asked again. "You don't look like you have."
"I haven't," V admitted, perhaps relenting.
"I guess that's why you're so skinny."
"I meet the criterial threshold for a male's average BMI—"
"You meet the absolute minimum for the average male BMI, you're not fooling me. I've seen your papers."
"...You remembered?"
"So? What if I did?"
"I have nothing to say."
***
V stared down at a burger in his hands. He bore a pale complexion as his lips were upturned into a lour, grimacing at the prospect which would come from taking a bite into it, even if there be some plastic wrapping around the bottom of it, holding up its foundation.
"Are you going to take a bite?" Fiammetta watched the white-haired man as if he were the most unique specimen she'd seen today. "It's just a burger, you know? You can eat it with your bare hands."
He flicked her a glance, lowering his gaze once more. "I am wholly aware of what a 'burger' is, Fiammetta. I've consumed one before. It's just that..."
"You're trying to figure out how to cleanly eat it?" she spoke lazily, as if expecting his response.
"You know my gripes with sullying my hands," V said, disliking the look the Liberi was giving him that very moment.
"Total drama queen..." she sighed underneath an exasperated breath. "It has a wrapper for a reason, just take a bite!"
V pulled back when it looked like Fiammetta was going to charge him and shove the food article into his mouth forcefully.
If I had a nickel for every time a 'bird' had told you oughta just bite into a burger... Griffon spoke up in his mind with his wisecrack loaded and fired, as he always had.
Silence, V commanded in his mind, far too weary to remember those days due to his recent vices; activities of chasing a hidden Demon like he was headless chicken.
Much to no avail.
Without a single word, he opened his mouth and brought it closer to the pair of flour construct filled with succulent meat and a myriad of vegetables lodged within to complete the concept of what a 'burger' should be in the colloquial sense.
How amusing it was that both his previous world and this one possessed the concept—
The moment he took what should have been a hearty bite was when the sauce splattered all over his hands, like the ichor of a profane Demon gored out from their viscera.
"...Ugh," V sounded in disgust, feeling the sludge travel down his fingers and hand as he continued to bite the contents which entered his maw.
"How...?" Fiammetta looked befuddled, astonishment drawn across her soft features. "All the sauce is underneath the burger, it shouldn't spill like that."
"This is why, my dear Fiammetta," he dramatically said after swallowing the portion down his esophagus, "I prefer to consume less barbaric meals."
Says the guy who gobbled down raw Demon flesh before! Griffon cawed, a scent of tangy irony thick in the air—or rather—mindscape of V.
Had he not told his Familiar to be silent before?
Fiammetta hurled him a deadpan look. "If you want to eat something oh-so-refined, then go to Higashi and get a slice of wagyu from their Meatbeasts."
"Duly noted."
V began biting into his burger again... causing a greater mess in his hands.
He cursed his stars in bitter woe.
***
This guy, V, was unbearable, to the point where he went all around back to being bearable (paradoxical); that was what Fiammetta believed while she watched him continue to eat his burger and deliver a mess on his hands every time he bit the meal.
Why the heck did he look like he knew more than he let on every time he was in the picture? Ever since she met him when he was a child, he was always... how could she put it into words? Like he was the archetype of a mysterious caricature from media given form.
Maybe it was an exaggeration, maybe she had been watching far too many B-movies as of late, but that was the best comparison she could've made.
By the time the white-haired man finished eating the food she bought for him—his appearance still a somber one as he wiped it clean—they just sat there in silence.
V especially, he looked like he was glancing elsewhere, attempting to search for something. The despondency, while common for him since they've made contact with each other, was seldom disturbing with how... bothered(?) he seemed to be.
Lunch was soon to end, but she still had a small piece to say to him.
Fiammetta decided to go for an ice-breaker. "Hey, you know the shooting competition between academies is coming up, right?"
"Posters are plastered all across campus, of course I do," he plainly replied.
"Lemuen was talking about how she wanted you to watch her participate or something. Did you ever get around to that?"
"...I don't believe she's approached me with such matters yet?"
"Seriously? She hasn't?" Fiammetta saw him nod his head, the natural flow returning. "Wow. Okay, well, I don't really want to speak for her, but would you want to attend it? Just to watch her, of course."
V's eyes drifted upon the waves of sight elsewhere while his body continued to face her. "If my schedule permits, then I can attend."
There seemed to be an underlying half-truth laden within his words, but Fiammetta didn't want to jump to conclusions. "Alright, I'll just send what you said as a text to Lemuen." She reached into her pocket swiftly, and with the precisionist speed of drawing a conceal-carry firearm, she drew a phone out within the blink of an eye.
"Say, will you participate yourself?" V asked, watching her fingers dance across the device's interface.
"Me? No," Fiammetta denied. "If I did, I'd have to use one of those bootleg firearms if I don't want to fumble with a real one. I'd just be a burden." The text was sent when she finished talking.
"It's hard to keep up with Lemuen in terms of firearms, isn't it?"
She huffed, pocketing her phone. "She's the most cracked person I know with a gun. Of course I can't keep up with her, especially since I'm more for grenade launchers. Do you know anybody that can compete with her?"
V raised two fingers. "Two individuals."
"Two... individuals?" Fiammetta repeated, memories cycling back to two people in her mind's eye. "Mostima and... Federico?" Lemuel had almost made the list, but then she remembered that the Sankta was much younger than them.
"I'm afraid not."
"...Mr. Pozzo?"
"No. I won't reveal to you their names." The white-haired man smirked, leaning back on his chair with an all-knowing look plastered upon his visage.
"If you don't actually have names, then just admit it." The Liberi growled indignantly.
The rest of their lunch time was spent pestering one another. Even then, Fiammetta couldn't help but feel as if there was something smoldering underneath the outward appearances V had exuded.
...Strange.
When they departed, she pulled her phone out and texted Lemuen in regards to what she had told V about the shooting competition.
***
Lemuen: Oh my gosh, he actually agreed?!
Yeah, he did.
Lemuen: :D
Lemuen:
Lemuen: Hey, I know this may be a bit out of left field...
Lemuen: But how do I, uhm...
Lemuen: Approach him with a senstive topic.
Lemuen: sensitive*
Where is this coming from?
Lemuen: Well~ it may or may not involve him.
Lemuen: So that's the troubling part.
If it doesn't involve him then just drop the topic if he has no clue.
If it does, then as long as it isn't like
Involve murder or something, then it's probably going to be fine
He understands you probably the best of us tbh.
You shouldn't really be afraid.
Lemuen: Really?
Really.
Lemuen: Aww, thanks.
No problem.
Lemuen: Catch you later.
Yeah, catch you later.
***
In the locker rooms...
Lemuen sucked in a deep breath, clenching her phone with both hands. She stood in the hallways, checking her schedule again. She didn't have any classes with V after the previous one before lunch, so there was not much of an opportunity to talk to him. And especially since her prefect duties will throw another wrench into her plans, pushing her wants further away.
The matters she desired to discuss... she didn't even know what they were, she was rather ignorant if she had to admit.
The Sankta began to feel as if the world was larger than she could've imagined. Was it an epiphany? The sort of life-changing near-death experience that would happen to people? She could've been stricken with a one-in-a-billion bad luck scenario, but she still wouldn't know.
Did V know?
Was he involved in some way?
Or was he as ignorant as her?
...Lemuen wondered if this was how those tin-foil-hatted conspiracists felt. Except everything she had witnessed thus far were in no way a falsified recollection.
Placing her phone away and looking at her sniper rifle stored in her locker.
A Sankta never went out without carrying their Patron Firearm. Although they had to be stored in school unless for special occasions, Lemuen would make doubly sure she would never ever let the armament fall to the back of her mind.
Pivoting back, she warily made her way back to classes, intent on getting the day over with and finding V at the end.