Vincent wishes Veld had more class.
Veld Dragoon was missing.
Most people wouldn't have been concerned.
In fact, most people felt Veld was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Most people didn't want to risk having their head lopped off for even thinking that Veld might not be able to.
Vincent Valentine was not one of those people.
Veld had gone missing the evening after a mission, and hadn't told anyone a thing. Vincent had ended up going to dinner alone out of near starvation--there was only so many times he could look into the refridgerator and try to wish something into the empty space. He hadn't been worried up until then, considering that Veld could have been out doing some leftover work, but when the clock had hit eight and Vincent had gone down to eat on his own, he had stared at his food, and gotten up and left, not even taking a bite.
It didn't taste good without the asshole there to make it satisfying, and Vincent decided not to bother.
Going back to their apartment at eight thirty, Vincent decided to call up some of the rest of the team and see if they had seen Veld around (or hell, to ask if he were with them, which left most of them puzzled as to the thought). Reno had been the most helpful of them, and Vincent wasn't surprised that he might have a lead as to where Veld might have went.
"He always goes to Minstrel's on Seventh for drinkin'," Reno said, and there was a clink of a beer in the background. Drinking, per usual, probably at his apartment.
"Can I borrow your car?" Vincent inquired. He'd gotten his license the week before, had been forced to by Veld, and had already graduated to high-speed driving, thanks to a mission where he had been at the driver's seat and Reno'd been the one aiming his gun to the left window of a car next to them.
It had been scary as fuck, and Vincent had sworn that he'd seen all seventeen years of his life pass before his eyes more than once.
"You sure you wanna go lookin' for him?" Reno's tone was incredulous. In fact, whenever Vincent or Veld ended up in situations where they asked others about each other, everyone sounded incredulous. It was already two years--Vincent thought that they would've gotten used to it by now, but it was still a shock amongst the majority.
"Yeah." he responded without a pause.
"Sure, whatever you want, kid. Um. I got the keys up at my apartment, so drop by if you want 'em. But don't say I didn't warn you." The sound of keys dropping against each other as they were picked up from the smooth surface of a table drifted to Vincent's ear.
"I won't," Vincent smiled, just a little.
***
Minstrel's was a hole in the wall. Vincent thought that maybe Veld would've had more class, but then again, Veld had always failed to meet his expectations in that field.
Stepping through the puddles, Vincent finally came to a doorway underneath a lighted sign. Pushing through, he peered around the dimly lighted bar, his sharp gaze searching for Veld's form.
Most people wouldn't have been concerned.
In fact, most people felt Veld was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Most people didn't want to risk having their head lopped off for even thinking that Veld might not be able to.
Vincent Valentine was not one of those people.
Veld had gone missing the evening after a mission, and hadn't told anyone a thing. Vincent had ended up going to dinner alone out of near starvation--there was only so many times he could look into the refridgerator and try to wish something into the empty space. He hadn't been worried up until then, considering that Veld could have been out doing some leftover work, but when the clock had hit eight and Vincent had gone down to eat on his own, he had stared at his food, and gotten up and left, not even taking a bite.
It didn't taste good without the asshole there to make it satisfying, and Vincent decided not to bother.
Going back to their apartment at eight thirty, Vincent decided to call up some of the rest of the team and see if they had seen Veld around (or hell, to ask if he were with them, which left most of them puzzled as to the thought). Reno had been the most helpful of them, and Vincent wasn't surprised that he might have a lead as to where Veld might have went.
"He always goes to Minstrel's on Seventh for drinkin'," Reno said, and there was a clink of a beer in the background. Drinking, per usual, probably at his apartment.
"Can I borrow your car?" Vincent inquired. He'd gotten his license the week before, had been forced to by Veld, and had already graduated to high-speed driving, thanks to a mission where he had been at the driver's seat and Reno'd been the one aiming his gun to the left window of a car next to them.
It had been scary as fuck, and Vincent had sworn that he'd seen all seventeen years of his life pass before his eyes more than once.
"You sure you wanna go lookin' for him?" Reno's tone was incredulous. In fact, whenever Vincent or Veld ended up in situations where they asked others about each other, everyone sounded incredulous. It was already two years--Vincent thought that they would've gotten used to it by now, but it was still a shock amongst the majority.
"Yeah." he responded without a pause.
"Sure, whatever you want, kid. Um. I got the keys up at my apartment, so drop by if you want 'em. But don't say I didn't warn you." The sound of keys dropping against each other as they were picked up from the smooth surface of a table drifted to Vincent's ear.
"I won't," Vincent smiled, just a little.
***
Minstrel's was a hole in the wall. Vincent thought that maybe Veld would've had more class, but then again, Veld had always failed to meet his expectations in that field.
Stepping through the puddles, Vincent finally came to a doorway underneath a lighted sign. Pushing through, he peered around the dimly lighted bar, his sharp gaze searching for Veld's form.