Dream 1: Snip
Sep. 4th, 2011 07:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nightrayseweratDream 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."
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Date: 2011-09-04 01:10 pm (UTC)He needs to just tell Leo everything, and yet he can't, can he? Because with Elliot here, with Elliot living and breathing here, even if it doesn't mean anything at all in the grand scheme of things... Leo isn't that person.
Even though the same soul resides within him.]
Yes, Leo?
[The look on Vincent's face is nothing short of dangerous, really.]
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Date: 2011-09-04 01:19 pm (UTC)Even if the truth frightens him like hell, even if asking in the first place takes every ounce of courage.]
That...
[First of all:]
Did that happen? Back home?
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Date: 2011-09-04 01:22 pm (UTC)Doesn't matter, except that he needs to move forward, somehow. He'll go mad if he doesn't.]
Are you sure you want to know?
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Date: 2011-09-04 01:56 pm (UTC)[That just makes him even more worried, more scared. He feels like anything else is just going to get stuck in his throat and never come out because he doesn't want to say that yes, yes he does.
But that just makes him need to know even more. Just what happened?]
Yes.
[He wishes his voice sounded a little more sure, less quiet.]
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Date: 2011-09-04 01:59 pm (UTC)[It's an easy enough answer, really, just parroting the same word back to the boy.]
Yes, my Lord, that is what happened.
[There's no mockery at all in his tone, for once. A longing, even, perhaps.]
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Date: 2011-09-04 02:06 pm (UTC)[How did that.
How would that happen? It couldn't be... Vincent is a Pandora member, isn't he? So if it's connected to the voices... to Glen-- But why would Vincent make someone like him his "master" if it wasn't for a specific reason?
He has pieces but no clue how to connect them. And... this is his best bet right now.]
Do you know anything about me?
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Date: 2011-09-04 02:14 pm (UTC)[Vincent is smiling as he says the words, his expression quite amused, a little cruel as well, perhaps.]
Do you believe I would follow someone I knew nothing about?
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Date: 2011-09-04 02:22 pm (UTC)Tell me.
Everything.
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Date: 2011-09-04 06:29 pm (UTC)[It's a test, you see? And he doesn't think you're going to pass it.
With Elliot there, you're not his Leo.]
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Date: 2011-09-04 06:32 pm (UTC)[Don't test him. He can't deal with this he can't hecan't--]
Why not?
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Date: 2011-09-04 06:33 pm (UTC)[It's not just a childish taunt, it's the real reason.
Leo isn't really of any use to Vincent, like this. And Vincent has to figure out how to make him so.]
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Date: 2011-09-04 06:36 pm (UTC)If you know something, I need to know, master Vincent. No one else does.
[And he's scared that it's so unknown. Don't make him do anything drastic.]
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Date: 2011-09-04 06:40 pm (UTC)[He's not going to make this easy, at all.]
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Date: 2011-09-04 06:45 pm (UTC)[Well. If we'll be that way.]
Fine.
[And abruptly he ends the call. If Vincent is used to him being his master...
Asshole.]
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Date: 2011-09-04 06:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-04 07:04 pm (UTC)Then he'll just have to think of Vincent as a servant, and not a Nightray household member. He needs to know what happens, and most importantly anything about the voices and even if he's not sure Vincent actually knows anything about that, this is the only lead he has right now because Oz can't tell him anything.
He'll do whatever it takes.]
Vincent.
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Date: 2011-09-04 07:08 pm (UTC)Yes?
[That tone. It's almost there. It's almost where he wants it.]
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Date: 2011-09-04 07:15 pm (UTC)But.
Damn it, this isn't the time. Answers are right here in his reach and he's not about to let some stupid fear overtake them. He needs--]
Put those things away.
[His voice does tremble a bit, but it still holds an edge, a demand. Getting this fear shoved at him does make him, well, pretty much dangerous, murderous.
It's not something you want to try too recklessly.]
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Date: 2011-09-04 07:24 pm (UTC)Then again, there is such a thing as too far.
So Vincent slowly sets the scissors aside, and then stands, his eyes focusing on Leo's form. He pauses for a moment, and then speaks, slowly.]
My master looked me in the face squarely. Can you?
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Date: 2011-09-04 07:31 pm (UTC)Aside from the desire to know already.]
...squarely?
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Date: 2011-09-04 07:43 pm (UTC)[Vincent steps closer, reaches out his hand, letting it hover just short of touching the edge of Leo's glasses.]
Can you?
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Date: 2011-09-04 07:59 pm (UTC)Don't touch me.
[He shouldn't be feeling the need to breathe heavily just to get air. Damn it--]
How would it benefit me? Do I need to be your "master" in every way for you to tell me anything?
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Date: 2011-09-04 08:14 pm (UTC)[It's petty, so very petty. But he's never claimed to be otherwise. And he just wants to push and push and keep pushing, now.]
Are you that frightened?
[He holds his hand against his chest, as if it were injured, cradling it, despite his calm tone.]
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Date: 2011-09-04 08:26 pm (UTC)But he doesn't say so. Vincent has a point; why would he listen to someone who only looks like his master? It really is such a weird thing to think, that he, Leo, is anyone's servant, even less someone like Vincent.
How much has he changed...? He's not sure he wants to know, fully. But apparently, he has decided to face things. Somehow.
And so, he takes a deep breath and grabs his glasses, slowly pulls them off. He tells himself that if Vincent has already seen, it really doesn't matter much. What does he have to hide, in that case? Nothing. And he tells himself that he needs to know for Elliot's sake too, not just his own.
He needs to know how dangerous it is. How dangerous he is.]
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Date: 2011-09-04 08:43 pm (UTC)[And it's not the euphoria of the dream, not quite, but there's an excitement to it, something that could overwhelm him if he'd let it. It's pretty clear in the way his hand almost trembles, as he strips a glove from it, reaches up, again stopping just short of touching, this time Leo's hair.
He waits, poised there so close to that contact, to brushing the hair back from the boy's face.]
You know who you are, don't you?
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