[voice] the taste of that fruit still lingers
[A la Diva style, this isn't video. Rather, there is a crackle of static, and a slow, low chuckle, the sort of chuckle that starts in the back of one's throat and ends up in the back of someone else's. The silence that follows is long and full of all sorts of pregnant possibilities. And generally speaking, you're not sure whether or not you want to see what sort of love child this particular pregnancy will give birth to.
Knowing Vincent, it's probably something deranged.
When he does speak, his voice is soft. Charming, lilting, patronizing and chock full of a hundred year's worth of bitter resentment hidden under a smiling facade.]
"The family is a haven in a heartless world." Didn't someone say that? If it wasn't someone, then it must have been someone else.
[His laughter is strained, somewhat. It sounds as though he were breathing in and out from the opening of a paper-bag. Judging from his mental state, it's probably not too much of a stretch. One can almost imagine the way he places a finger on the dreamberry, dragging his finger across it languidly.]
That man [man, because he's certain no woman could have said such a thing, not when his and Gilbert's mother had--] must have known what it meant to lose that haven. Haha, didn't another say that one doesn't know what they have until they have lost it?
[The pensive hum is mocking.] What does that say, then, about someone who has lost it twice? Does it mean that they did not cherish it? That the first time wasn't enough? I wonder what it says about old dogs, then, the sort that cannot be taught any tricks at all. Those are always the ones left behind, aren't they? No matter how much they wish to follow. Like sorry, sorry dogs.
[The first time was like a punch to the face. The second time was the sorrowful sound of nails clawing across barren flesh. But what of the time before even the first time? With his brother slung over his shoulder, prone, prone body, small, weak, pale hands. That was the ripping out of a heart out of a beating chest. The feel of two souls torn asunder. Brother.
He composes himself.]
Mm, I suppose my question to you is this, privileged audience. [The curl of his smile.]
How many of you have lost a sibling, a father, a friend since your arrival at this world? And... if there is even that slim possibility -- to what lengths would you go to get them back? Who would you beg? Who would you threaten? Who would you kill?
[Laughter, simple, pure laughter. And then, softly, like a mantra--]
Snip, snip, snip, little ones, snip, snip, snip. For listen, the sound of the scissors are drawing near.
Knowing Vincent, it's probably something deranged.
When he does speak, his voice is soft. Charming, lilting, patronizing and chock full of a hundred year's worth of bitter resentment hidden under a smiling facade.]
"The family is a haven in a heartless world." Didn't someone say that? If it wasn't someone, then it must have been someone else.
[His laughter is strained, somewhat. It sounds as though he were breathing in and out from the opening of a paper-bag. Judging from his mental state, it's probably not too much of a stretch. One can almost imagine the way he places a finger on the dreamberry, dragging his finger across it languidly.]
That man [man, because he's certain no woman could have said such a thing, not when his and Gilbert's mother had--] must have known what it meant to lose that haven. Haha, didn't another say that one doesn't know what they have until they have lost it?
[The pensive hum is mocking.] What does that say, then, about someone who has lost it twice? Does it mean that they did not cherish it? That the first time wasn't enough? I wonder what it says about old dogs, then, the sort that cannot be taught any tricks at all. Those are always the ones left behind, aren't they? No matter how much they wish to follow. Like sorry, sorry dogs.
[The first time was like a punch to the face. The second time was the sorrowful sound of nails clawing across barren flesh. But what of the time before even the first time? With his brother slung over his shoulder, prone, prone body, small, weak, pale hands. That was the ripping out of a heart out of a beating chest. The feel of two souls torn asunder. Brother.
He composes himself.]
Mm, I suppose my question to you is this, privileged audience. [The curl of his smile.]
How many of you have lost a sibling, a father, a friend since your arrival at this world? And... if there is even that slim possibility -- to what lengths would you go to get them back? Who would you beg? Who would you threaten? Who would you kill?
[Laughter, simple, pure laughter. And then, softly, like a mantra--]
Snip, snip, snip, little ones, snip, snip, snip. For listen, the sound of the scissors are drawing near.