Vergil.

Not much in Vergil was left of that little child. He remembered his childhood in shreds, a piece here, a piece there. He was a quiet child that spend most of his tome in library, sitting on the windowsill and reading. He didn't have many bad habits, but he had one quite cute habit. He liked to sit in the frog pose and almost always unconsciously adopted it once he sat down somewhere. Legs apart, hands neatly folded between them and holding a book. Then he grew up and the stupid habit was forgotten. You headed to the kitchen, but slowed down. Vergil was sitting on a sofa, reading some book. He took the frog pose again: he spread his legs, put his hands between them, holding the book in them, and leaned over it, reading the text with interest.

He threw a displeased look at you. When you simply continued to stare at him, a shadow of bewilderment and even annoyance was reflected on his face.

«What's wrong? Is my hair mussed or is there dirt on my face?»