Some time later, the situation had become considerably calmer.
Vergil was sitting in a broad chair near the mansion's enormous kitchen table, with Yamato seated sideways on his lap, stiff as though the position were some particularly cruel form of torture. The former sword's face had remained red ever since he had practically forced her to sit there, and the fact that Vergil was holding a plate in one hand and a small spoon in the other did absolutely nothing to help her newly acquired dignity.
"Open."
Yamato glared at him.
"Master, I can feed myself."
Vergil brought the spoon closer to her mouth.
"I know."
"Then give it to me."
"No."
Yamato closed her eyes for several seconds, breathing deeply in an obvious attempt to find within herself the same patience she had possessed during years of being used to cut demons, dimensions, and practically anything Vergil pointed her toward.
When she opened her eyes again, the spoon was still there.
Vergil was smiling.
"Open."
