[INCOMPLETE]
Who: Vincent, Hojo.
When: sometime today? idk.
Where: wherever Hojo's hiding. ♥
Rating: PG, atm.
Warnings: LOL WEEEELL. I'll get back to you.
Summary: Vincent is v. confused and thinks he's still a Turk annnnd that The Jenova Project has been moved to Purgatorium. Hojo does nothing to discourage these beliefs. He's a jerk.
It was strange, he thought. Strange, and different, though it was for reasons he couldn't exactly place. He remembered all the detailed events that happened in Nibelheim he supposed he should have remembered, except for the ones that Hojo spoke of. But why, exactly, would they have moved the project to such a dark and dismal place? And why were there so many children running around, and why did Hojo look so different? Younger, even. Much, much younger than he actually was, and much younger than Vincent was himself. But Purgatorium. That girl -- Aerith -- had told him it wasn't anywhere in Gaia, and that was something he took to believing quite easily. He had never heard of a place in Gaia called Purgatorium, after all, and the look of the city, how strange it was with its ceramic skies, was not something he imagined he would have been able to find back home, anyway. But if it wasn't in Gaia, then where else could it be?
And more importantly, how did they end up there?
They were all questions he would have liked to ask, but. He wasn't really in the position to, was he? If Hojo wanted to meet with him face-to-face before he was debriefed, and if that's what was required of him, then so be it. No matter how confusing everything was, and no matter how dark the shadows of the city seemed to be, and no matter how many times he had to glance over his shoulder as he walked, gloved fingers drifting down to tap lightly against the metal of his gun, he wasn't about to argue. That wasn't apart of his job, either. Of course, he certainly had things to argue about. Definitely. When it came to Lucrecia, in fact. Or Dr. Crescent, rather. She was a bit of an odd one, and there was always something he needed to say to her in order to make her understand something else that should have - and would have been - obvious to anyone other than her. He hadn't asked about her, either, had he? That was probably neglectful of him, in any case. He'd have to remember to do it later.
Though, really, he couldn't picture her in a city as dead as this one was. And Hojo hadn't mentioned her at all -- though would he have a reason to, when he thought about it? In any case, he supposed it didn't matter either way. He had work to do, apparently. What sort of work it was, he wasn't sure, but that had never mattered, either. He was thinking too much about all of it, about the reasons for why he could have been there, about what was wrong with the city in general, and he barely noticed, barely caught it, when he turned a sharp corner and nearly ran straight into a wall. A brick wall. Dead end.
Wonderful. He'd gotten turned around, then.
With a sigh, the heel to his shoe dug into the dirt beneath him as he turned and went back the way he came. With everything considered, Purgatorium really wasn't that confusing of a place to navigate around. He just really didn't think, he supposed, when he was caught up with other things, focusing on all the sort of details and events that really didn't matter when it came down to it. On top of adding an extra ten minutes or so to his otherwise relatively short-lived journey, it was cold. The tips of his fingers were nearly ice by the time he was within five meters of the building Hojo had given him directions to, and he was walking a bit stiffly, a little strangely, when he was finally at the stairs, pushing himself up toward the porch as his open palm trailed along the wooden railing. Even still, he couldn't help but pause right in front of the door, brows furrowing to a direct point over his forehead as he studied the marks and scars that lay littered on the surface before him.
Something still didn't feel right. That twisting and turning that had left him feeling rather uncomfortable the moment he awoke in the strange city he didn't recognize hadn't gone away. In fact, it had only gotten worse. Uncontrollable, almost, and a little painful and annoying to deal with, but. It only made sense, didn't it, that he'd feel just a bit different after everything that had happened -- after everything he apparently couldn't recall happening. Amnesia. That's what was wrong. Amnesia, and yet--
It still didn't explain everything else, did it?
"What does it matter?" he muttered, voice catching as he inhaled the frozen and biting oxygen of the air around him. "Focus, Valentine."
That was something he had never been very good at, after all.
He wasted another brief second contemplating over whether or not to knock, before one hand was moving out and long fingers were wrapping about the brass handle, turning and leveling his shoulder against the door as it creaked open. One foot slid inside, followed quickly by the other, and the second his body was out of the way of the frame, the door was closing behind him, cutting off the sharp wind and the cool of the atmosphere just beyond. He paused, then, as red eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room he was in, as he glanced over every piece of spare furniture that he could make out.
Strange. It was all very strange.
"Professor?" Another step. The pad of his thumb trailed a featherlight line across the curve to his chin, before his hand fell back to his side, resting lightly on the holster at his waist.
When: sometime today? idk.
Where: wherever Hojo's hiding. ♥
Rating: PG, atm.
Warnings: LOL WEEEELL. I'll get back to you.
Summary: Vincent is v. confused and thinks he's still a Turk annnnd that The Jenova Project has been moved to Purgatorium. Hojo does nothing to discourage these beliefs. He's a jerk.
It was strange, he thought. Strange, and different, though it was for reasons he couldn't exactly place. He remembered all the detailed events that happened in Nibelheim he supposed he should have remembered, except for the ones that Hojo spoke of. But why, exactly, would they have moved the project to such a dark and dismal place? And why were there so many children running around, and why did Hojo look so different? Younger, even. Much, much younger than he actually was, and much younger than Vincent was himself. But Purgatorium. That girl -- Aerith -- had told him it wasn't anywhere in Gaia, and that was something he took to believing quite easily. He had never heard of a place in Gaia called Purgatorium, after all, and the look of the city, how strange it was with its ceramic skies, was not something he imagined he would have been able to find back home, anyway. But if it wasn't in Gaia, then where else could it be?
And more importantly, how did they end up there?
They were all questions he would have liked to ask, but. He wasn't really in the position to, was he? If Hojo wanted to meet with him face-to-face before he was debriefed, and if that's what was required of him, then so be it. No matter how confusing everything was, and no matter how dark the shadows of the city seemed to be, and no matter how many times he had to glance over his shoulder as he walked, gloved fingers drifting down to tap lightly against the metal of his gun, he wasn't about to argue. That wasn't apart of his job, either. Of course, he certainly had things to argue about. Definitely. When it came to Lucrecia, in fact. Or Dr. Crescent, rather. She was a bit of an odd one, and there was always something he needed to say to her in order to make her understand something else that should have - and would have been - obvious to anyone other than her. He hadn't asked about her, either, had he? That was probably neglectful of him, in any case. He'd have to remember to do it later.
Though, really, he couldn't picture her in a city as dead as this one was. And Hojo hadn't mentioned her at all -- though would he have a reason to, when he thought about it? In any case, he supposed it didn't matter either way. He had work to do, apparently. What sort of work it was, he wasn't sure, but that had never mattered, either. He was thinking too much about all of it, about the reasons for why he could have been there, about what was wrong with the city in general, and he barely noticed, barely caught it, when he turned a sharp corner and nearly ran straight into a wall. A brick wall. Dead end.
Wonderful. He'd gotten turned around, then.
With a sigh, the heel to his shoe dug into the dirt beneath him as he turned and went back the way he came. With everything considered, Purgatorium really wasn't that confusing of a place to navigate around. He just really didn't think, he supposed, when he was caught up with other things, focusing on all the sort of details and events that really didn't matter when it came down to it. On top of adding an extra ten minutes or so to his otherwise relatively short-lived journey, it was cold. The tips of his fingers were nearly ice by the time he was within five meters of the building Hojo had given him directions to, and he was walking a bit stiffly, a little strangely, when he was finally at the stairs, pushing himself up toward the porch as his open palm trailed along the wooden railing. Even still, he couldn't help but pause right in front of the door, brows furrowing to a direct point over his forehead as he studied the marks and scars that lay littered on the surface before him.
Something still didn't feel right. That twisting and turning that had left him feeling rather uncomfortable the moment he awoke in the strange city he didn't recognize hadn't gone away. In fact, it had only gotten worse. Uncontrollable, almost, and a little painful and annoying to deal with, but. It only made sense, didn't it, that he'd feel just a bit different after everything that had happened -- after everything he apparently couldn't recall happening. Amnesia. That's what was wrong. Amnesia, and yet--
It still didn't explain everything else, did it?
"What does it matter?" he muttered, voice catching as he inhaled the frozen and biting oxygen of the air around him. "Focus, Valentine."
That was something he had never been very good at, after all.
He wasted another brief second contemplating over whether or not to knock, before one hand was moving out and long fingers were wrapping about the brass handle, turning and leveling his shoulder against the door as it creaked open. One foot slid inside, followed quickly by the other, and the second his body was out of the way of the frame, the door was closing behind him, cutting off the sharp wind and the cool of the atmosphere just beyond. He paused, then, as red eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room he was in, as he glanced over every piece of spare furniture that he could make out.
Strange. It was all very strange.
"Professor?" Another step. The pad of his thumb trailed a featherlight line across the curve to his chin, before his hand fell back to his side, resting lightly on the holster at his waist.