Experimenter|Specimen

[frozen_paradigm]

Characters: Vincent Valentine, Hojo, fellow Cage II people? (Use this as an op to threadhop etc?)
Location: Inside the cage, for once.
Time: I dunno. How long did they knock us out for D:
Rating: PG13 for playground taunting/violence/yomama insults.
Open/Closed: COMPLETELY OPEN. Jump in! Save me omg. Or. Y'know. Participate in the beatings,

Comments

[bulletshock]

Consciousness was that sort of thing, when put under so suddenly, with the body already pushing hard-- harder than ever remembered, to the brink to breaking down and falling apart... it was like a myth. Sleep could last forever. Low and in the comforting blackness that blanketed reality away from the realm of dreams.

Not that any dreaming was happening, thankfully.

Vincent Valentine was actually a rather pathetic sight without his layers. Without the usual measure of defenses and barriers. In white, compared to black and red and gold, he just seemed like some rail-thin, bony man with too-tangle hair pooled about him with some sickly pale completion. Half-curled on the floor, cheek pressed to the group as if to bury himself in it. Harmless was far from what he truly was.

And he was content to remain there, so tired, the breaches of wakefulness harsh glimmering of light out on that black, dreamless sleep.

Never mind the sounds or the smells. Never mind anything else.

All he wanted to do was sleep for a while.

[frozen_paradigm]

The conversation with Shelke finished, Hojo felt his nerves settle slowly into calmness. Interesting, again, what a defined goal could do - he needed to stay alive, so that she might do the same. Not that he felt any sort of attachment to the girl, but her presence and condition were good reasons to fight fate nonetheless, good reasons to look for holes in the net.

He inched himself to his feet, still using the wall as support, and examined his surroundings further. Thin fingers scraped the lock on the door; eyes scanned every crevase of the small room as well as the ceiling (they had taken his clothes but left him his glasses. How nice of them). The people sharing his cell had no weapons - not that he would have known how to use them, on reflection - and he thought briefly about waking someone before the inclination passed. No. As little noise as possible is definitely more beneficial here. The journal lay open where Shelke had cried (tear stains...? Lu- Ah, but that was hardly a good train of thought to pursue), and his message to

Apologies for the fail tag...

[bulletshock]

It's interesting what familiarity can do. The familiar way exhaustion could always crop up, a voice from somewhere long-lost, maybe even the elusive sensation of a texture. Possibly even a scent.

What was regrettable was the way the fog of sleep split and washes away, and Vincent was left a groaning, uncomfortable mess against the floor. He'd never felt like he'd wanted to thoroughly curl up in quite some time. Physically, he was sure he was fine. But he ached. Bone-deep and nerves agonizing for a while.

It took a while to realize because it was rather interestingly cold.

And that something did sound familiar, smell familiar, was familiar.

Blinking, Vincent tried to put it together, the cold freezing up even his mental processes.

I see no fail tag. B|

[frozen_paradigm]

Familiarity, yes- The shape of the dark man's form as he started to stir reminiscent of events years ago... but back then Valentine had been behind glass, and Hojo behind a flickering monitor. This was different. Difficult. Dangerous but what could the professor do?

Breathe. Air. Damn the gods- think! Valentine seemed physically frail, missing the gauntlet that had made his presence so formidable and so otherworldly, not to mention his usual array of firearms were also absent. Hojo knew of the man's abnormal strength (had been partly responsible for such, even), but given the circumstances perhaps Valentine would be weakened enough not to present an immediate threat.

At least not a fatal one.

But damnit, damnit, Hojo would rather not stay here and find out what the Turk was capable of! This time, his fists did contact the wood of the door - the first strike uncertain, the next one stronger, the third almost desperate.

"Come on," he muttered, in truth slightly derailed by fear, "Open the door...!"

kjdf ♥

[bulletshock]

Not many people knew what ice felt like so intimately. Vincent did. He knew what it felt like to have to care for frost bite, a wound where blood had frozen solid-- ice spells that would have killed any lesser being. Though 'lesser'... wasn't that ironic? Absolutely, positively ironic. He knew what it felt like, how sluggish and painful blood flow returning was. Bit of it moving through him. The could and bubbles should have stopped his heart. It did. But it always started back up again, always kept moving, always kept pumping.

Mako felt a lot like that, he thought, when it was dumped into the system.

Chilling, slicking capillaries. Arteries. Veins. His whole insides before it would warm up. So hot it was like he couldn't sit still. Forced into the blood and body. Adrenaline, but with a more powerful kick. It hurt, every time, to hold still. Motion wanted to happen. So there he was, sitting, and scrambling. IT was pathetic, really. So easily pathetic, but it was all he could do, so cold and hot at the same time, and Vincent felt

<3! ZOMG DYING

[frozen_paradigm]

In that single moment, the rush of blood to his head almost knocked Hojo unconscious, before his heartbeat increased another painful notch and he was fighting the urge to vomit, the air caught entirely in dead space so he could not drag it in nor force it out. Cold sweat drenched his back; his limbs were paralysed as if the animalistic sound of growling had stricken him physically, and as he whirled around to face the voice, he found himself consumed by the brilliant red of the beast's eyes, and, once again, tasted bitter death on his tongue

8|;;; a million years later...

[hellnahandbaskt]

Repentance? What was that had been said-- something he'd told Cloud? Never tried. Never tried, never succeeded. Truth was, some part of Vincent thought there was no real salvation. There was nothing left. Nothing. And it's that same fear, that same gripping, stirring, angry fear that sits so tight on nerves. Like nails raking across them, sending signals before there's time to keep track of them.

It's starting to draw attention, he registers. Vaguely. Just vaguely.

Unimportant.

See, fear has a scent. Has a sharpness. Ashen and dark, thick in the nasal cavity, dragging out the baser instincts.

Hojo feared him. Or, rather, feared what was left.

Vincent had known that long ago, he supposed.

"What's one more?" he asked, careful, simple.

He remembered lunging, somewhere in there, ready to damn well strangle the life out of that pathetic excuse for a "living being"-- no. Not even that. Not anywhere near that. Hojo wasn't human. No human was capable of such atrocities. No human could tamper so easily with the boundaries of morality