Soul Wrought Of Terra Corrupt [Active/very open]
Character(s): Vincent Valentine, anybody coming to greet a dead Ex-Turk?
Content: Vincent arrives through Paixao's gates none too happy.
Setting: Vanaheim gate.
Time: Afternoon.
Warnings: The likelihood of any character getting brushed off or snarked~
A tattered crimson cape in the breeze. The sheen of that monstrous gauntlet. Hardened, deep crimson eyes. He had been returned to his human form for rhyme and reason unknown.
He had died. No 'life flashing before my eyes', no 'this is my sacrifice', nothing like the movies he'd seen. It had been a split-second decision, and damn it all, if Omega was dead, he could be at peace. Everyone else could survive without him. He played his part, and finally finished his story.
It was all over.
Taking the brochure when offered, the ex-Turk bit the inside of his cheek in uncertainty. Paixao. Was this the true name of the Lifestream? There had been that, and The Promised Land... but Paixao?
Huh.
The queue hadn't been much farther off from the other man who had handed him the brochure, but this new stranger looked... exactly the same. Wonderful. The Lifestream was full of clones.
"Your name, sir?"
Give his official name and title? No. He didn't know this man. There was no reason to. "Vincent." He said simply, still with that flat, monotone drawl. There was no need to say anything more. The dark-haired man took the small laptop without complaint or protest, and moved inside without another word spoken.
And inside, was a domed city beyond even his most outlandish dreams.
'That's it. I'm dead. I have to be dead.'
Move to find a place to stay. No distractions.
'Either that or this is still Omega's consciousness.'
Don't pay attention to what anyone else is doing. Keep moving.
'Either way... this still sucks.'
Content: Vincent arrives through Paixao's gates none too happy.
Setting: Vanaheim gate.
Time: Afternoon.
Warnings: The likelihood of any character getting brushed off or snarked~
A tattered crimson cape in the breeze. The sheen of that monstrous gauntlet. Hardened, deep crimson eyes. He had been returned to his human form for rhyme and reason unknown.
He had died. No 'life flashing before my eyes', no 'this is my sacrifice', nothing like the movies he'd seen. It had been a split-second decision, and damn it all, if Omega was dead, he could be at peace. Everyone else could survive without him. He played his part, and finally finished his story.
It was all over.
Taking the brochure when offered, the ex-Turk bit the inside of his cheek in uncertainty. Paixao. Was this the true name of the Lifestream? There had been that, and The Promised Land... but Paixao?
Huh.
The queue hadn't been much farther off from the other man who had handed him the brochure, but this new stranger looked... exactly the same. Wonderful. The Lifestream was full of clones.
"Your name, sir?"
Give his official name and title? No. He didn't know this man. There was no reason to. "Vincent." He said simply, still with that flat, monotone drawl. There was no need to say anything more. The dark-haired man took the small laptop without complaint or protest, and moved inside without another word spoken.
And inside, was a domed city beyond even his most outlandish dreams.
'That's it. I'm dead. I have to be dead.'
Move to find a place to stay. No distractions.
'Either that or this is still Omega's consciousness.'
Don't pay attention to what anyone else is doing. Keep moving.
'Either way... this still sucks.'