In the back by the lake, a solitary figure perches on a tree branch overlooking the water. The very last rays of light ripple off it; they could easily mesmerize if he let them do so
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Years of training cause him to tense and in a flash, the gun he wears on his hip is drawn and pointed. But... it is only Yrael, in cat-form; he lowers Cerberus slowly.
"Yrael."
Old instincts die very hard, and he hopes his... friend doesn't insist on being petted.
He won't. Yrael is very good at spotting lost causes. (Though sometimes he still tries to convert them, if he's feeling particularly contrary. Lucky for Vincent, he doesn't feel like it, today.)
"Vincent," Yrael replies, comfortably, unruffled by having a rather impressive gun pulled on him. It's not the first time Vincent has pointed it at him.
"One never knows who or what might approach out here." Checking that Cerberus is safely holstered, he drops his right hand to his side.
"Particularly at this time of night." His eyes move from the white cat to the tree in the background with the flowers planted around it. He... is not the gardener Lucrecia is -- was -- but he's managed to keep them alive.
"I cannot fathom why the bar, or the landlord, or whoever, keeps you here when you would rather be elsewhere," Yrael huffs through his whiskers. "There is no sense to it that I can see."
Said in a tone that says that if he can't see any sense in it, there must not be any sense to see.
"I am well enough. All is relatively calm here-" There isn't a current doom threatening the bar and its patrons, at least. "- and apart from a small hiccup, my career in New Orleans is doing well."
For all the good it will do him, he longs to hear of other worlds, of those who are allowed to leave to go elsewhere. Being held here -- being Bound -- makes as little sense to him as it does to Yrael, but there is nothing to say about it that hasn't already been said.
"Tell me of your career in New Orleans."
He would know of this... small hiccup, if Yrael is of a mind to share the details.
"It goes well," Yrael replies, stretching and flexing his claws against the rock he sits upon. "I sing under an assumed name at various local venues. I had been singing as two different singers, Felix White and Bianca Silvestri, and things had been going well. A while back, Felix was offered a lucrative sponsorship deal in Baton Rouge, but it was too far away from my door to Milliways, and I passed the limits of my connection to the Charter, in the Old Kingdom."
"Felix was luckily left for dead in one of the alleyways of New Orleans, where I later regained consciousness and returned here. I only perform as Bianca, now."
"This past week, a somewhat demented fan thought that Bianca Silvestri should be as infatuated with him as he is with her, or else could make better headlines in the newspapers as a murder-victim. That was the hiccup."
It takes him a moment to put all the pieces of this... story of Yrael's together. "This... fan... did he stage his own demise?"
That hardly seems like a logical step, and that from someone who knows more than a little bit about infatuation. At least in his case, he's managed and for a while, when she was here, he thought -- finally -- that Lucrecia shared his feelings, but... well... she's gone and that answers that question.
And still, he would go home to protect her... or what remains of her.
That's what they used to call it when he worked for the Turks. Those were not the kind of assignments for which he was suited; his specialty was as a bodyguard. Still, he has the training to do any and all of it, regardless of where he was assigned at Shin-Ra.
"Not terribly convenient," Yrael snorts. "I had been in a good mood, before he tried to corner me on my way back here. One of the local companies had shown interest in coming to a sponsorship arrangement."
Being so many different people so much of the time must be tiresome. He can barely keep track of things for himself, and he is -- most of the time -- only Vincent Valentine.
Yrael has many shapes, many faces, but only one real self.
There are, however, facets.
"They would provide the money to record and distribute my music for sale across the country, expanding the number of people who hear my music past what I can do in live performances in New Orleans. While I enjoy the attention, I don't know if I can progress my career any further than live shows. I have little use for the extra income, and it isn't as though I could do concert tours." That whole shutting-down-fifty-miles-from-his-connection-to-Milliways is rather limiting.
"Besides, I make my music because I enjoy the reaction from the audience. Their thoughts and feelings, called up by the music. Recording my music and having them listen to it without me there won't be the same."
He is... so far from comfortable with the idea of being any sort of... performer that he can hardly even imagine being in front of an audience. The very idea sends a chill down his spine.
"I think... you are braver than I am." It isn't something he often believes; when one seemingly cannot die, it takes most of the fear out of almost everything. But the part of him that is still so very human blanches at the idea of being on stage in front of anybody.
He... would not enjoy the reaction from the audience. In fact, he would probably rather die.
It may settle next to his right ankle.
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"Yrael."
Old instincts die very hard, and he hopes his... friend doesn't insist on being petted.
Reply
"Vincent," Yrael replies, comfortably, unruffled by having a rather impressive gun pulled on him. It's not the first time Vincent has pointed it at him.
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"Particularly at this time of night." His eyes move from the white cat to the tree in the background with the flowers planted around it. He... is not the gardener Lucrecia is -- was -- but he's managed to keep them alive.
So far.
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"How have you been?"
He's not expecting the answer to be 'good,' but all happiness is relative.
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"The same. I'm... still here."
That, he feels, says it all.
"The grounds here are different. I have yet to see a living red-eyed bunny inside the confines of the bar, but... they are here."
Perhaps that's overstating the obvious.
"And you? You're well?"
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Said in a tone that says that if he can't see any sense in it, there must not be any sense to see.
"I am well enough. All is relatively calm here-" There isn't a current doom threatening the bar and its patrons, at least. "- and apart from a small hiccup, my career in New Orleans is doing well."
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"Tell me of your career in New Orleans."
He would know of this... small hiccup, if Yrael is of a mind to share the details.
Reply
"Felix was luckily left for dead in one of the alleyways of New Orleans, where I later regained consciousness and returned here. I only perform as Bianca, now."
"This past week, a somewhat demented fan thought that Bianca Silvestri should be as infatuated with him as he is with her, or else could make better headlines in the newspapers as a murder-victim. That was the hiccup."
Reply
It takes him a moment to put all the pieces of this... story of Yrael's together. "This... fan... did he stage his own demise?"
That hardly seems like a logical step, and that from someone who knows more than a little bit about infatuation. At least in his case, he's managed and for a while, when she was here, he thought -- finally -- that Lucrecia shared his feelings, but... well... she's gone and that answers that question.
And still, he would go home to protect her... or what remains of her.
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"More he... took an unscheduled trip and got lost." Between Yrael's teeth. "Either way, he likely won't be seen or heard from again."
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That's what they used to call it when he worked for the Turks. Those were not the kind of assignments for which he was suited; his specialty was as a bodyguard. Still, he has the training to do any and all of it, regardless of where he was assigned at Shin-Ra.
"Convenient."
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Being so many different people so much of the time must be tiresome. He can barely keep track of things for himself, and he is -- most of the time -- only Vincent Valentine.
"What sort of sponsorship?"
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Yrael has many shapes, many faces, but only one real self.
There are, however, facets.
"They would provide the money to record and distribute my music for sale across the country, expanding the number of people who hear my music past what I can do in live performances in New Orleans. While I enjoy the attention, I don't know if I can progress my career any further than live shows. I have little use for the extra income, and it isn't as though I could do concert tours." That whole shutting-down-fifty-miles-from-his-connection-to-Milliways is rather limiting.
"Besides, I make my music because I enjoy the reaction from the audience. Their thoughts and feelings, called up by the music. Recording my music and having them listen to it without me there won't be the same."
Reply
"I think... you are braver than I am." It isn't something he often believes; when one seemingly cannot die, it takes most of the fear out of almost everything. But the part of him that is still so very human blanches at the idea of being on stage in front of anybody.
He... would not enjoy the reaction from the audience. In fact, he would probably rather die.
Reply
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