Vincent Nightray (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nightraysewerat) wrote2011-09-04 07:42 am
nightraysewerat) wrote2011-09-04 07:42 am
Dream 1: Snip
Dream effects: Melancholy leading up to euphoria, ending in calm, an almost satiated feeling.
Warnings: Gore in Vince’s thoughts, spoilers for recent PH chapters
The scissors feel lighter in his hands than they did as a child, though they have the same ornate handles, the same very sharp blades. He holds them more easily, fitting better in his palm, bounces them a little as he considers what he will cut with them, this time.
His eyes are slitted, nearly closed, and for a moment all that can be seen is darkness, but a rather textured darkness, not quite pure black, not quite still or unwavering. What is lacking in sight is made up for in sensation, as his fingers slip along the cool metal of one blade, and then brush against that textured curtain, revealing it to be course strands of hair that part under his fingertips almost reluctantly, clinging.
Then skin, warm and precious and thin, barely covering pulse and life and flow of blood, barely concealing everything that would flow out so easily. It’s so easy to trace the spine downward, to press fingers and the side of one wicked blade against the nape of the neck, to scrape with a nail as if considering what it would be like to cut.
"Vincent."
The voice is a warning, but it sounds as if it comes from far away, and it’s not in the voice of this person before him. It’s entirely the wrong voice, and Vincent frowns, as if something is broken by the wrongness of it, as if the fact that tone is indisctinct to the man himself destroys something.
"My apologies."
His own voice is wrong too, far too sincere, more sincere than it should ever be, open and revealing too much. The scissors are too light in his hand, lighter than when they first drew blood, lighter than when they pressed against eyeballs, squishing them deep into the sockets before they finally burst and crushed and became nothing but frail balloons spewing vile jellies. Lighter than when they rent flesh from flesh, failing to spill blood from corpses already cold.
They’re too light, and what he intends to cut with them is too light as well, the strands falling away so simply and without any real difficulty at all.
Snip.
Snip.
Snip.
Dark hair littering the ground around his feet, and he keeps his eyes on the back of the boy’s neck, fixed on a collar that’s slightly crooked, half turned-up, messy. Messy like the hair that is clinging to Vincent’s shoes, messy like the turmoil of thoughts swirling in Vincent’s mind as he gets closer and closer to his goal.
Then there’s that second, that last moment where he steps around before the young man, where he snip-snip-snips those last few times and then he’s reaching one gloved hand out, he’s parting those last few strands in order to find...
Vision becomes nothing but a blur of brilliant white, and there’s a clatter as the scissors hit the ground. Did they fall? Or did his hands simply float away from them, light as he is light now, as if the weight gone were from his own head, not someone else’s. Light, everywhere, and a smile touching his own lips as he speaks, finally.
"There you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere, Master."
Warnings: Gore in Vince’s thoughts, spoilers for recent PH chapters
The scissors feel lighter in his hands than they did as a child, though they have the same ornate handles, the same very sharp blades. He holds them more easily, fitting better in his palm, bounces them a little as he considers what he will cut with them, this time.
His eyes are slitted, nearly closed, and for a moment all that can be seen is darkness, but a rather textured darkness, not quite pure black, not quite still or unwavering. What is lacking in sight is made up for in sensation, as his fingers slip along the cool metal of one blade, and then brush against that textured curtain, revealing it to be course strands of hair that part under his fingertips almost reluctantly, clinging.
Then skin, warm and precious and thin, barely covering pulse and life and flow of blood, barely concealing everything that would flow out so easily. It’s so easy to trace the spine downward, to press fingers and the side of one wicked blade against the nape of the neck, to scrape with a nail as if considering what it would be like to cut.
"Vincent."
The voice is a warning, but it sounds as if it comes from far away, and it’s not in the voice of this person before him. It’s entirely the wrong voice, and Vincent frowns, as if something is broken by the wrongness of it, as if the fact that tone is indisctinct to the man himself destroys something.
"My apologies."
His own voice is wrong too, far too sincere, more sincere than it should ever be, open and revealing too much. The scissors are too light in his hand, lighter than when they first drew blood, lighter than when they pressed against eyeballs, squishing them deep into the sockets before they finally burst and crushed and became nothing but frail balloons spewing vile jellies. Lighter than when they rent flesh from flesh, failing to spill blood from corpses already cold.
They’re too light, and what he intends to cut with them is too light as well, the strands falling away so simply and without any real difficulty at all.
Snip.
Snip.
Snip.
Dark hair littering the ground around his feet, and he keeps his eyes on the back of the boy’s neck, fixed on a collar that’s slightly crooked, half turned-up, messy. Messy like the hair that is clinging to Vincent’s shoes, messy like the turmoil of thoughts swirling in Vincent’s mind as he gets closer and closer to his goal.
Then there’s that second, that last moment where he steps around before the young man, where he snip-snip-snips those last few times and then he’s reaching one gloved hand out, he’s parting those last few strands in order to find...
Vision becomes nothing but a blur of brilliant white, and there’s a clatter as the scissors hit the ground. Did they fall? Or did his hands simply float away from them, light as he is light now, as if the weight gone were from his own head, not someone else’s. Light, everywhere, and a smile touching his own lips as he speaks, finally.
"There you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere, Master."
no subject
Seeing him made Noel feel uneasy. Uneasy like whenever Jin was present... She's reasonably quite hesitant about contacting this person.
But... It should be sooner than later. Knowing which world he hailed from, and how much value Ada put on this man... He was probably living under the same roof as Noel. She needed to see if she really had to keep her guard up or not. Taking a few deep breaths first, she attempts to maintain her composure as she places a call.]
So... You're Vincent. I... I didn't expect we would officially meet so soon. My sincerest apologies for accidentally viewing your dream.
no subject
[It's obvious as he speaks that he doesn't think that at all, of course. And he's wearing a smile the whole time he speaks, but he's also wondering who this person is, how much they know about him.]
I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, though, since I don't know your name.
no subject
Oh, um...! Y-Yes, please excuse me for my rudeness. I'm Noel Vermillion, and though I come from a different world, I live with Miss Ada and the others. P-Pleased to meet your acquaintance. [... She thinks. Despite the smile he gives, Noel can't help but be (unsure) about this whole situation. Polite as ever, she give a slight nod in place of a bow.]
no subject
[Now he's definitely curious, and his eyes narrow a little.]
Well, that just won't do. We can't be complete strangers and live together. Surely you and I should get to know each other, shouldn't we?
no subject
I... suppose that's for the best, s-since we'll inevitably be encountering each other often. Plus, I'm sure Miss Ada would have wanted to introduce you to me, regardless...
no subject
[The curiosity gets dialed up a little here. He really wants to know how this person fits in, and why exactly they live here.]
Are you close friends with my dear Miss Ada then? I feel so out of touch with her life here, so I would love to meet everyone she is close to.
no subject
Well, I guess we are pretty good friends... Even if her hobbies scare me sometimes. [For a brief moment, Noel turns slightly oale as she recalls Ada's fascination with the occult. As if her traumatized mind refused for her to stroll down that subject, she carelessly steers herself toward another subject:] Though, I've known Elliot much longer..
no subject
[He leans in, definitely more interested now. Ada was one thing, but Elliot...]
So, you claim friendship with both my-
[No, he can't make himself say the word, no matter what Ada has told everyone.]
With Ada. And with my brother. Obviously you and I should become good friends as well, don't you think?
1/2
2/2
I... I suppose it would be nice if we weren't strangers to each other...
Re: 2/2
[He's quite pleased by this, it sounds like.]
We'll get to know each other, you and I. Once I get settled in. I look forward to it.
[Not creepy at all, really. Look at this nice smile.]