sweethymns | OPEN RP POST SIX

[The instincts of his old body kick in when the earth trembles beneath his feet. Vincent loses the proper stance of a gentleman and shifts into something more coiled, gloved fingers flexing but not quite reaching for the blade hitched to his back.]

What calls you here—

[He glances up at a flickering lamppost overhead, casting paroxysms of light and shadow across their features as the ground groans in protest.]

—stirs. I wonder if it’s you or I that happens to be doing the waking.

[He shoots a glance down the street, to see the reactions of the people of this city. That would be telling enough.]

[There's a scurry among the populace as they hurry into any nearby buildings and homes. Doors are shut and the sound of wood and metal echoes throughout the night. The lamps and the two of them are what remain in a world of snow and fading light. Monts grits her teeth and then purses her lips.]

I think this is a regular thing. The people here, they're scared. They're always scared and...

[Another foghorn roar. Monts rests her forehead in one of her hands as if she's suffering a splitting headache.]

It's like... A song? But it sounds awful. If I'm like this, I can't—

[She swears under her breath in Spanish and as the roar around them continues, dark and smoky tendrils appear across her face, akin to spider legs or diseased looking veins. With another shuddery breath, she collects herself, but looks at Vincent apologetically.]

—Never mind. I can deal with it.

[The sound swells in his ears, vibrates along the marrow of his bones. But it doesn’t hurt, doesn’t make him squirm, doesn’t affect him like it’s affecting Monts. It isn’t calling to him, he doesn’t think — doesn’t latch its sonorous tendrils into Vincent the same way it’s doing to her.

He steps forward, almost concerned, almost protective. But there’s no need, made clear when she straightens and her features have changed. Tendrils of black crawling along skin.

Closer to what she really is, Vincent muses. The glamour of pure humanity ebbing in the presence of whatever was making the world shake.]

Are you certain? Whatever this is... I think it’s seeking you. Not I. I don’t feel a tug and pull, nor does its song appeal to me. Just to groaning of an ancient thing, nothing more.

...will you be all right?

I'll be...

[Her eyes have turned black with no trace of the serene blue-green left. The darkness on her body is tinged with scarlet.]

... It can't take me. It won't. This song isn't for me. It sings for others. I hear more clearly, I hear it for what it is.

[When the Flower is at the forefront, her speech mirror's Vincent's, vague and cryptic.]

[In the distance outside of the city where it's mostly a frozen hellscape, something else is whipping up a storm. Snow flies everywhere in a wave of white as an ominous crowd marches its way toward the city and consequently towards the bridge they're standing on.]

Them. Pitiful. They play to its tune. But they never rest...

... Where shall we go?

I feel sorry for them.

[Humans are below Great Ones. Small, barely-there creatures, just dust in the grand make of the universe. But the Great Ones are sympathetic, and Vincent, who wishes to guide humanity when he can, can only feel sympathy instead of disdain.]

I say we aim for the song itself. In the distance, that awful snow storm.

[The crowd approaches, but Vincent is unmoving for now.]

If we’re fortunate, we might can even say hello.

[The closer the army of winter creatures approaches, the clearer the two can make out their features even through the veil of frost. Ribs poke out, faces or the lack thereof, are gaunt and empty. There's even a group commandeering a sleigh of what looks to be undead reindeer. That get's her notice first.]

Then let's make our way smoothly. If we're on foot, the delay will be irritating.

[There are parts of her original personality, practical yet playful, that still stand out even though the Flower is in charge. She points to the sleigh.]

There. How far is your reach?

[He reaches for the blade at his back, snow crunching as he faces the approaching horde. Unflattering, at best, but far from the worst he’s ever seen.

Almost amusing, the sleigh, if not trite.]

The human kind? Or the other sort?

Don't be coy now. That's my job.

[A blurred line indeed.]

After all, I already know you're dangerous.

[A dry scoff, a very human reaction to that remark.]

Everyone is dangerous, Miss Monts. With the right application of force.

[Blade unsheathed, but with a toss of the wrist the trick weapon seems to split itself wide, forming what can only be described as reminiscent of a bow. And arrow forms in his hand as Vincent draws it taut, shivering with paleblood.

He sends it flying towards one of the undead creatures, directly towards its head.]

Let’s do it the old fashioned way.

[His arrow finds its mark and the creature is down. A collective screech is heard and they begin to focus on the two unwelcome creatures before them, strangers to this world.

Monts moves behind Vincent, her body language tense and cautious. One on one, she stands a chance, she can survive. This? Not so much.]

I'll hit if I have to. I am a weapon. But I'm not like you. You've done this before.

I have. And in far worse circumstances; Yharnam was more dangerous than this lot.

[Another arrow, two, three, all flying and hitting their mark from a distance. But Vincent then reverts his blade back to its sword-like form, the metal singing for blood.

He has done this before. This ragged bunch of wintry creatures is nothing, and he knows he can rely upon the muscles memory of this body to cut them down, one by one. Like the beasts from his old life; like kin, like elder Great Ones.

Vincent says nothing else, he merely rushes forward in a swoop of long black coat whipping behind him, meeting the crowd head-on once the distance is closed. He's quick, his cuts are fast and brutal; it's like a dance, it's such a practiced thing.

And his presence, in close proximity with these new enemies, well. It's likely a little disorienting for them, faced with something that's not quite a man any longer. That possesses the scent of the great wide universe and everything beautiful and terrible within it.]

[She watches Vincent as their prey falls victim to his blade, her own heart racing despite the unearthly serenity she gains from her flower. Taking a few steps back, Marianna makes some effort to gracefully be unobtrusive, but of course, there is the inevitable straggler or two that dodge Vincent and target her, trying to grab her.

Several splashes into the dark waters below them occur in succession. For her, it's like tossing rag dolls into the trash. Their weight barely registers. There's another corpse, reaching for her neck.

It finds itself at the mercy of her palm and in a split second, a crackling sound of a skull being crushed barely pierces the night.

This causes some of the creatures to hesitate, but they're more than likely to be ended by Vincent soon.]

[He takes no injury, adorns his outfit with no paleblood of his own. Instead, Vincent cuts them down as if they were reeds in the wind, and they crumble beneath his blade. He lifts his eyes just in time to see Mont's own power, crushing a creature's skull as it falls to her feet.

Felling the rest is easy. They're slow compared to what he's used to. And when they're dead, the last one sliced across the back and throat, it falls close to where she stands.

Vincent straightens, air expelled from his lungs seen in the cold night.]

Corpses drained dry. Not much of a threat at all. Your power, though-

[He asks, curious while hitching his blade to his back again.]

-I wonder if you even needed me to begin with?

[Her smile, that disarmingly pretty and friendly smile, spreads across her features and contrasting against the dark tendrils that cover her face.]

Clean up— [There's a sickening crunch underneath the heal of her boot as she deliberately steps on another skull of a felled corpse.]

— Is more fun with a companion.

I'm quick when I need to be. But this body was not meant for doing the same as you do. It is enhanced, not invisible.

[She hums under her breath and the red pupils in her black eyes glitter like gems under the lamplight.]

You on the other hand... Yes. Yes, you're very... Potent.

[That is a disarming smile, more so than usual -- maybe it's the Flower, maybe it's the power granted by it. Maybe it's the skull being crushed under her heel. Hard to say, but the violent gesture means nothing to him. He doesn't even look down; their victims, they're not human, not any longer.]

I'm hardly infallible. Even in my other form. Maybe even especially then.

[He's young, and Great Ones have been sought after and slain before. Beyond the protection of the Hunter's Workshop, maybe it's a strange boon that he's been given a human body again.

His eyes linger on hers.]

"Potent"? In what way?

[Monts......stop yourself............]

Oh? You're letting it run through your head now are you?

[Monts is near him with her hands behind her back. For a second she seems to be be considering her next action...

And then simply settles on a playful poke to his forehead. Still herself it seems (it's always been her, but less angry, less fearful, a peaceful and dangerous bloom). ]

Think about it some more. Let me know why you think later. For now I remain insincere.

[Just for now... The red in her eyes do make her look a touch more predatory, but just a touch. Her arm sweeps in a grand gesture towards the empty sleigh with the remaining steeds.]

Lets find our song. Let's put it to sleep while the snow still falls.

Edited 2018-12-08 09:17 (UTC)

[Vincent only blinks as her finger makes contact with his forehead, not sure what to make of it. But he shouldn't be surprised given her general demeanor.

Still, "letting it run through your head". Bound to happen, maybe, given how often she teases him; he thinks little of it, though the eldritch part of him stirs, curious, possessing an ingrained instinct to latch onto such a willing connection.

The human part of him, at least, has a little more tact than that. Tells himself to not take anything at face value, especially after she's admitted (and he knows, already) that she's not being sincere.]

If you like. [Thinking about it, he means, though he's quick to focus on the task at hand.]

We should ask it questions before we do anything at all like 'put it to sleep'. If it's inclined to answer us.

[-he says as they make their way to the sleigh. The steeds will move on their own once they've settled down, as if they know exactly where to go. The song calls them just as readily.]

[She makes herself comfortable while seating herself on the sleigh. The reindeer shuffle uncomfortably as they are aware that their new riders are not of this world. The command of the song overrides their instinctive fear and the sleigh starts to glide through the snow.]

I guess I might be the one at fault for bringing us here at all. But your suggestion does sound better.

... And this is the first time you've seen "me" haven't you?

The first time this “you” has come to the surface, instead of hissing at me from below your skin.

[Settled into their seats, the sleigh settles into an easy enough glide. The half-cloak at his shoulders flutters behind him in the icy breeze.]

So, yes. Should I be worried?

Are you?

[There's a tilt of the head. Her red pupils are hardly dimmed by the flurry of snowfall above them.]

Although I doubt you've seen worse forms. I have adapted. I am... Calm. For now.

Not particularly, to be truthful with you.

[A hand coming up to adjust his hat.]

And when you’re not calm, Miss Monts?

I lash out. Like any other creature, I suppose.

[There's a contrast between what is known to be the usual Marianna to the one sitting in front of Vincent right now. The former was like a girl who basks in the warm rays of soft sunlight. The one that is present is paradoxical; she still wears the shell of a delicate humanoid, but her presence is dense and heavy like the blackness of her eyes and the marks across her face and her body.]

We're not the same and yet we're not so different... No. We are very different.

[The Flower seems to take amusement in the thought as she buries herself into the collar of her coat.]

I am comprehensible. Perhaps you are not.

Edited 2018-12-11 23:59 (UTC)

[A glance at her, eyes keen under the brim of his dark hat.]

Right now, perhaps, I am quite comprehensible. Very much only your traveling companion, following your lead across this strange, cold world.

[But Vincent can feel her amusement. It brushes against him, causing his own lips to twist upwards.]

Wouldn’t you prefer that for now? As opposed to the incomprehensible, some terrible truth stretching across space and time? Don’t lose yourself in such deep pits of thought just yet.

That being said, I do hope I’m never one to anger you. I’d hate to face your wrath, never mind incomprehension.

Preferable... You have a point. It's good that we do not fear each other... Though you'd have a better chance of killing me than most.

[She talks of her own demise mischievously where it could almost be called unnerving. She leans forward, resting her face in her hands and elbows on her knees.]

In your hunting ground that you called Yharnam, were there no other flowers? None that bloomed such as I?

I wouldn’t bring my blade to your throat unless you gave me reason to. Thus far, you certainly haven’t.

[What a hypothetical.]

I’m a peaceable sort, never mind the weapon I own or the amount of blood on my hands. I fight to save myself or to save others. Violence for its own sake is a very... well. It’s a nightmare. Just like Yharnam was a nightmare.

[He pauses.]

There were lumenflowers. Giant, towering, blooming only in moonlight. Not of this world — quite beautiful. But that city wasn’t suited for springtime revelry. Blossoms included.

Certainly none like you, so keen on taking on a human... body.

OPEN RP POST SIX

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