((Vincent Holway: RBP1 - TV2 - Last Time In CAVE CAVE DEUS VIDET))
Vincent had one hand over the brim of his hat, as if it helped him see as he searched for nothing. He had no goal in mind, but it was something that felt right too him. He was looking for things that were not there, getting exactly what he expected in return.
Vincent and Vahka had discovered upon some fishing rods when they stumbled on this spot. Not a great find at further revelation, but it was something he felt they had together. It wasn't as if there was a novelty to the rods however. In fact, there were quite a few lying about all around the river line, but not exactly a large amount, per say.
He was sitting down, fishing rod resting lazily between his legs, and his arms now relaxed at his side. He had other things to eat, but the idea of gathering his own food by himself instead of being served by the creatures who put him here was amusing for him. A minor annoyance, but still an annoyance. It did not fully matter though, as Vincent already knew his chance of catching anything was suspect, but he was amused for the time.
Sometimes he felt as if the bait had finally been snagged on, but never gave into the impulse to reel it back in after the slightest twitch.
Cleansing
Death Thread
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Un-Persona*
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Cleansing
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Latin For Dragula
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((Vahka Basayev Continued From CAVE CAVE DEUS VIDET))
It didn't feel right. Lying here like this, soaking in the winter sun and fishing on a cold lake. Not after everything they'd been through.
Vahka had been thinking a lot about the next move ever since he left Pia behind. Like most of his moves so far, it all came down to the bandannas. It was a shame they'd come up with different ones. Mighta made a helluva team.
Thinking about the bandannas edged him into uncomfortable territory lately. Mostly because of Vincent. He'd spent about a day with the guy now, and he felt like he had a decent handle on him. They'd known from the start that they'd end up parting ways eventually. Now, though...
Vahka was starting to wonder if Vince would let him leave. He was starting to wonder if he could let Vince leave.
He sighed and lifted his hands away from the pole.
"How long do ya think we can do this, Vince?"
Cracked his knuckles.
"How long can we pretend we're not threats to each other?"
It didn't feel right. Lying here like this, soaking in the winter sun and fishing on a cold lake. Not after everything they'd been through.
Vahka had been thinking a lot about the next move ever since he left Pia behind. Like most of his moves so far, it all came down to the bandannas. It was a shame they'd come up with different ones. Mighta made a helluva team.
Thinking about the bandannas edged him into uncomfortable territory lately. Mostly because of Vincent. He'd spent about a day with the guy now, and he felt like he had a decent handle on him. They'd known from the start that they'd end up parting ways eventually. Now, though...
Vahka was starting to wonder if Vince would let him leave. He was starting to wonder if he could let Vince leave.
He sighed and lifted his hands away from the pole.
"How long do ya think we can do this, Vince?"
Cracked his knuckles.
"How long can we pretend we're not threats to each other?"
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"A very long time."
It was true. Vincent had thought about it all, so many times in his head, and it all came out the same. Either or. No and. There were two possibilities to win for this game, and Vincent and Vahka could have gone either route if they so desired, perhaps even alternating halfway through, unconsciously or intentionally. It was, in short, plausible on a real sense. It was also improbable and, just by those last two sentences Vahka had said, impossible.
"But I suppose we're not up to that idea, anymore."
Vincent let the rod fall as he stood up, rolling towards the river and halted by the tough ice coating on the side. He dusted his pantaloons and his boots, resting his hands on his hips with a relaxed stance, eyes now resting on Vahka. He already knew everything he needed to know, about how this would go and why and all that was there to know.
He also knew how to go through the motions.
"What's on your mind?"
One of Vincent's hand slid across his belt, not trying to hide itself as it moved towards his back, where the knife was holstered. He only stopped when he barely felt the handle of his weapon, softly stroking it with his leather fingertips.
It was true. Vincent had thought about it all, so many times in his head, and it all came out the same. Either or. No and. There were two possibilities to win for this game, and Vincent and Vahka could have gone either route if they so desired, perhaps even alternating halfway through, unconsciously or intentionally. It was, in short, plausible on a real sense. It was also improbable and, just by those last two sentences Vahka had said, impossible.
"But I suppose we're not up to that idea, anymore."
Vincent let the rod fall as he stood up, rolling towards the river and halted by the tough ice coating on the side. He dusted his pantaloons and his boots, resting his hands on his hips with a relaxed stance, eyes now resting on Vahka. He already knew everything he needed to know, about how this would go and why and all that was there to know.
He also knew how to go through the motions.
"What's on your mind?"
One of Vincent's hand slid across his belt, not trying to hide itself as it moved towards his back, where the knife was holstered. He only stopped when he barely felt the handle of his weapon, softly stroking it with his leather fingertips.
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Latin For Dragula
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Vincent was going for his knife, but he wasn't hiding it. Vahka could pay him the same courtesy. His hands found the sword's grip, and his fingers danced along the flat of the blade.
"I think you know, bud."
He looked Vincent in the eye as he spoke. No crazy grin. No ticks. No exaggerations. This was about respect.
"Wouldn'ta lasted too long. You're too smart and I'm too stubborn. We both know how it's gotta end."
He was going to miss Vince, in his own way. They'd barely known each other, but he was quiet. Out of the way. They'd given each other what little safety they could.
"Figured I'd be up front about it. You deserve that, I think. No tricks. No shitty schemes. Just comin' right out and sayin' I know one of us has to die, and I'm pretty attached to it not bein' me."
They could be civil about the whole thing. They owed that much to each other.
"I think you know, bud."
He looked Vincent in the eye as he spoke. No crazy grin. No ticks. No exaggerations. This was about respect.
"Wouldn'ta lasted too long. You're too smart and I'm too stubborn. We both know how it's gotta end."
He was going to miss Vince, in his own way. They'd barely known each other, but he was quiet. Out of the way. They'd given each other what little safety they could.
"Figured I'd be up front about it. You deserve that, I think. No tricks. No shitty schemes. Just comin' right out and sayin' I know one of us has to die, and I'm pretty attached to it not bein' me."
They could be civil about the whole thing. They owed that much to each other.
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There was no lie, no fabrication - It was, what it was. This was the real world. Vincent could try to play the idealist as much as any other fop, but that's not who he was. As Vahka has so rightly stated, Vincent was too smart for that. He could have argued the means and the ends of this situation and their relationship but, as he also stated, Vahka was just going to be too stubborn.
Still, Vincent respected that stubbornness of Vahka's, for he too could only follow what way was the right way, which was his, and formerly theirs. Formerly. It was a little curious how normal it felt to already be saying that kind of word, but that's reality.
It was a little upsetting too. If Vincent, for some inane reason, was unable to win, Vahka was his second choice to take his place. After only a day and a half, they had accepted each other into their own comradery. Vincent was one of Vahka's "Ours" as Vahka was one of Vincent's "Mine". In a way, this was the only logical conclusion. It did remind him of something important though.
"One thing: If there's a girl by the name of Naomi Skye here and you so happen to find her, wait and savor her till the end. She has curly brown hair, emerald eyes...you'll know her when you see her."
With that, Vincent pulled out the knife in a underhand grip, beginning to circle around Vahka, fist tightening and their eyes leaving each other to look for an opening.
"In return...I won't touch Pia. I promise nothing about Paisley."
Still, Vincent respected that stubbornness of Vahka's, for he too could only follow what way was the right way, which was his, and formerly theirs. Formerly. It was a little curious how normal it felt to already be saying that kind of word, but that's reality.
It was a little upsetting too. If Vincent, for some inane reason, was unable to win, Vahka was his second choice to take his place. After only a day and a half, they had accepted each other into their own comradery. Vincent was one of Vahka's "Ours" as Vahka was one of Vincent's "Mine". In a way, this was the only logical conclusion. It did remind him of something important though.
"One thing: If there's a girl by the name of Naomi Skye here and you so happen to find her, wait and savor her till the end. She has curly brown hair, emerald eyes...you'll know her when you see her."
With that, Vincent pulled out the knife in a underhand grip, beginning to circle around Vahka, fist tightening and their eyes leaving each other to look for an opening.
"In return...I won't touch Pia. I promise nothing about Paisley."
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Latin For Dragula
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Round, and around, and around.
It was familiar and new all at the same time. The danger was real, and there was no plan. He didn't know where Vincent was going, or when he'd strike. The outcome was the same, though.
Someone walked away, and someone got carried away.
He smirked and held the sword defensively as Vincent brought up the girls. "Shit...I was gonna warn you to stay away from Pais. She'll eat ya alive, and I couldn't wish that on anybody. Now..."
The word dragged on his tongue as he shifted to follow Vincent, bobbing the tip of the blade gently. He rocked back on his heels, feinting to hunker in on his defense...
Then pushed off, charging just close enough to swing five and a half feet of steel in an arc toward's Vince's side.
It was familiar and new all at the same time. The danger was real, and there was no plan. He didn't know where Vincent was going, or when he'd strike. The outcome was the same, though.
Someone walked away, and someone got carried away.
He smirked and held the sword defensively as Vincent brought up the girls. "Shit...I was gonna warn you to stay away from Pais. She'll eat ya alive, and I couldn't wish that on anybody. Now..."
The word dragged on his tongue as he shifted to follow Vincent, bobbing the tip of the blade gently. He rocked back on his heels, feinting to hunker in on his defense...
Then pushed off, charging just close enough to swing five and a half feet of steel in an arc toward's Vince's side.
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There was time to think. Vincent had started the circling, but soon enough, he and Vahka's pace had mixed and become equals, like a formal dance. They matched each other, and it even began to feel like Vincent no longer had control of the situation.
That was all a rouse though. Vahka was eager, and therefore wanted to get closer, which was all Vincent needed. The Zweihänder was a large and heavy weapon, even wavering a bit in Vahka's hand.
A sword tall as a man, carried by arms that had a five foot wing span at least. It was down to the inches, so as Vahka plunged forward, Vincent followed. Vincent began swiping at Vahka with his knife, feeling the brunt of an elbow still in sword swinging motion socking him in the gut and knocking him down to the ground without any wind in his lungs.
That was all a rouse though. Vahka was eager, and therefore wanted to get closer, which was all Vincent needed. The Zweihänder was a large and heavy weapon, even wavering a bit in Vahka's hand.
A sword tall as a man, carried by arms that had a five foot wing span at least. It was down to the inches, so as Vahka plunged forward, Vincent followed. Vincent began swiping at Vahka with his knife, feeling the brunt of an elbow still in sword swinging motion socking him in the gut and knocking him down to the ground without any wind in his lungs.
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Latin For Dragula
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It was an accident, but a happy one. Vince had managed to slip past his sword, but found his arms still waiting for him. They weren't half as deadly, but they did the job. He might have got caught a couple times with that knife of his, but right now, he couldn't even feel it.
All his attention was focused on the prone man on the ground.
On his heaving chest as he tried to suck in his breath.
On the glare of his blade as it sunk down towards his heart.
All his attention was focused on the prone man on the ground.
On his heaving chest as he tried to suck in his breath.
On the glare of his blade as it sunk down towards his heart.
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Vincent's cap was gone. This was serious.
His tactics had all gone out the window, for he had not taken care to get the knife stuck in Vahka's skull. It was all up to instinct now.
The winter sun glared brightly on the blade as it was about to be shoved into his chest. Vincent scrambled some energy to roll around as the sword hit the snow, Vahka still going as if the cuts he made were nothing. Any other time, he'd have been proud.
This time though, his legs shot out at Vahka in a leaping hop.
His tactics had all gone out the window, for he had not taken care to get the knife stuck in Vahka's skull. It was all up to instinct now.
The winter sun glared brightly on the blade as it was about to be shoved into his chest. Vincent scrambled some energy to roll around as the sword hit the snow, Vahka still going as if the cuts he made were nothing. Any other time, he'd have been proud.
This time though, his legs shot out at Vahka in a leaping hop.
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Latin For Dragula
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His sword was gone.
His fucking sword was gone.
He liked that sword. Unfortunately, it looked like it liked the ground a little more as Vincent's feet pushed him backwards. He managed to keep his feet, but just barely. Vincent had bought himself some time.
Just enough to get back off the ground. Just enough to get Vahka nice and pissed.
An angry growl tore out of his throat as he hauled forward, grasping Vince's neck in his meaty fist and squeezing tight.
The smaller man went up as high as Vahka could lift him.
Then he came right back down onto the snow covered ground.
His fucking sword was gone.
He liked that sword. Unfortunately, it looked like it liked the ground a little more as Vincent's feet pushed him backwards. He managed to keep his feet, but just barely. Vincent had bought himself some time.
Just enough to get back off the ground. Just enough to get Vahka nice and pissed.
An angry growl tore out of his throat as he hauled forward, grasping Vince's neck in his meaty fist and squeezing tight.
The smaller man went up as high as Vahka could lift him.
Then he came right back down onto the snow covered ground.
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This was it. Vahka had stumbled, and Vincent was rushing towards him as a result, knife in hand. It was this final blow, at the arc on this swing finally came down, it'd all-
Vincent's throat was caught and the arc on his knife had frozen in cold air. The positions had been switched, as it was now Vahka who had lured him into close combat, both of them still holding on to instinct.
With Vahka having no weapons and Vincent having his knife, it only made sense for it to turn out this way. Vincent had messed with the formula, and he was going to suffer for it.
The knife fell out of his hands and onto the ground as Vincent was momentarily lifted into the air only to be brought back down again, making the knife trimmer as Vincent met it face to face, his head wet, hot, and cold all at once.
Vincent's throat was caught and the arc on his knife had frozen in cold air. The positions had been switched, as it was now Vahka who had lured him into close combat, both of them still holding on to instinct.
With Vahka having no weapons and Vincent having his knife, it only made sense for it to turn out this way. Vincent had messed with the formula, and he was going to suffer for it.
The knife fell out of his hands and onto the ground as Vincent was momentarily lifted into the air only to be brought back down again, making the knife trimmer as Vincent met it face to face, his head wet, hot, and cold all at once.
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Latin For Dragula
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Vincent was down. He was disarmed. He looked like he could barely move. This was over.
But it wasn't enough.
Vahka crushed his throat as hard as he could in his hand, trying to rob him of any air, any energy, any semblance of a fight that he could use to crawl back in. He lifted Vince back into the air and dropped him down once more, harder.
Then he let go of his throat and rose his left boot high over Vince's head.
He brought it down.
Then back up.
Then down again, over and over.
It'd be nice to say he didn't stop until Vince stopped moving, but that'd be a lie.
Even then, he kept going.
But it wasn't enough.
Vahka crushed his throat as hard as he could in his hand, trying to rob him of any air, any energy, any semblance of a fight that he could use to crawl back in. He lifted Vince back into the air and dropped him down once more, harder.
Then he let go of his throat and rose his left boot high over Vince's head.
He brought it down.
Then back up.
Then down again, over and over.
It'd be nice to say he didn't stop until Vince stopped moving, but that'd be a lie.
Even then, he kept going.
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This wasn't inane at all. Vincent thought that as he was being strangled. This wasn't wrong. Vincent thought that as he was lifted into the air. This was the answer. Vincent thought that as he was slammed down to the ground again, the wetness of blood mixing with freezing water in a solid splash and his skull meeting thick ice with a resonating thud.
Vincent was only the second greatest. That was what he thought when the first stomp left a large red bruise on his cheek. Vincent was only feeling the result of his own failure. That was what he thought when his nose was broken and sunken into his face. Vincent was just being put into his place. That was what he thought when the blood vessels in his eyes popped out and his forehead was in four different parts and bits of brain were swimming down the river bed.
Vincent didn't think much after that.
((Vincent Holway: RBP1 - TV2 - CANCELLED))
51 Stars Remain.
He only knew.
Vincent was only the second greatest. That was what he thought when the first stomp left a large red bruise on his cheek. Vincent was only feeling the result of his own failure. That was what he thought when his nose was broken and sunken into his face. Vincent was just being put into his place. That was what he thought when the blood vessels in his eyes popped out and his forehead was in four different parts and bits of brain were swimming down the river bed.
Vincent didn't think much after that.
((Vincent Holway: RBP1 - TV2 - CANCELLED))
51 Stars Remain.
He only knew.
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Latin For Dragula
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His leg ached.
His arms were bleeding from at least three different cuts.
His foot was drenched in fragments of bone and blood and flesh.
Vahka didn't think about any of that as he ground what was left of Vincent's head into a fine paste. It wasn't about how he felt. It was about how he looked. What the audience took from this.
As his stomping foot finally came to a rest, he scanned across the horizon, looking for the nearest camera.
His eyes bored into its lens as he pushed his heel into the ground methodically.
"Next."
---
Patching up the cuts had taken a little bit of time, but they weren't real serious. Three or four surface wounds across both arms, nothing more. It was better than anybody else had done so far, though, and if Vince hadn't decided to give him a fair shake and meet him man to man, he could have done a lot worse.
He respected him for that. That'd be something to remember when he got out of here. No matter how fast it ended after this, no matter how early he died, Vincent deserved their respect.
It was a good angle. He could work with that. Just needed to remember to learn the bastard's last name before he went off on it.
Vincent's knife found it's way into his boot. It could make a good hold-out weapon. He had a lot of those, at this point. With his arms bandaged, the knife in place, and his sword retrieved, he was almost set to go.
Almost.
Before he closed his bag, he reached into it and pulled out the surprise that had been waiting in the bottom. A long, heavy, forest green cloak, lined with black fur. Other than being a hell of a lot higher quality than his one back home, it was pretty much a perfect replica.
He threw it around his shoulders, and looped his bandanna around his forehead. With his sword set on his shoulders, he finally felt at home.
The first act was over. The stage was set. It was time for the real show to begin.
((Vahka Basayev Continued In O Death))
His arms were bleeding from at least three different cuts.
His foot was drenched in fragments of bone and blood and flesh.
Vahka didn't think about any of that as he ground what was left of Vincent's head into a fine paste. It wasn't about how he felt. It was about how he looked. What the audience took from this.
As his stomping foot finally came to a rest, he scanned across the horizon, looking for the nearest camera.
His eyes bored into its lens as he pushed his heel into the ground methodically.
"Next."
---
Patching up the cuts had taken a little bit of time, but they weren't real serious. Three or four surface wounds across both arms, nothing more. It was better than anybody else had done so far, though, and if Vince hadn't decided to give him a fair shake and meet him man to man, he could have done a lot worse.
He respected him for that. That'd be something to remember when he got out of here. No matter how fast it ended after this, no matter how early he died, Vincent deserved their respect.
It was a good angle. He could work with that. Just needed to remember to learn the bastard's last name before he went off on it.
Vincent's knife found it's way into his boot. It could make a good hold-out weapon. He had a lot of those, at this point. With his arms bandaged, the knife in place, and his sword retrieved, he was almost set to go.
Almost.
Before he closed his bag, he reached into it and pulled out the surprise that had been waiting in the bottom. A long, heavy, forest green cloak, lined with black fur. Other than being a hell of a lot higher quality than his one back home, it was pretty much a perfect replica.
He threw it around his shoulders, and looped his bandanna around his forehead. With his sword set on his shoulders, he finally felt at home.
The first act was over. The stage was set. It was time for the real show to begin.
((Vahka Basayev Continued In O Death))