The best laid plans of...heroes and aliens.

[notwhatiwas]

Characters: Vincent Valentine and Renna Moss. [CLOSED]
Location: Deck 08, the Bazaar.
Date: May 10th, evening.
Rating: PG at the highest.

Comments

[so_flighty]

Renna is a bit disappointed to be back on the boat - she liked the island and the beach and the food and the locals and -

Well. It's easier to just say that Rena really, really liked the island.

Still, it doesn't deter her from being happy and flitting her way around the boat, smiling and waving. That's what she does now, cheerfully waving at Vincent and continuing to move, until his entire 'outfit' registers. She stops, backstracks, and beams.

"Hey! Hey, you!"

[notwhatiwas]

Vincent was ambivalent about the island, and he's ambivalent about the ship. His most prominent opinion of all this is that he doesn't want any part of it, but--as seems to be the usual in his line of business--doesn't have much choice. He's dealing with it.

He's dealing with people freaking out when he stands on tall things, even though he couldn't die from a fall off the Plate, much less off a lighthouse. He's dealing with being mistaken for a woman by some strange boy from a world where fairytales made sense.

Being referred to as "Hey you" is blessedly familiar, if unexpected. Vincent turns toward Renna, expression blank. "Yes?"

[so_flighty]

Renna scurries over to him, face bright and cheerful, cheeks flushed from her gallivanting about the ship. She takes his appearance in - black hair, red eyes, cape...This had to be him.

"I think I'm supposed to be looking for you...I'm not terribly sure since I don't remember your name because I can't really remember anyone's name at all...some kind of mental block, I think, because of the whole mind reading thing, Mom said something about it compensating for the fact that I can get into peoples heads."

[notwhatiwas]

Vincent quirks an eyebrow. A telepath? That's...not worrisome or anything, not at all. He's more worried about her mental health than having someone poke around his head; he's very aware it's not a safe place to be.

Still, he responds smoothly enough, just barely moving his left shoulder back to make sure his arm is cloaked completely in the tattered red fabric of his mantle.

"My name is Vincent." Not that he supposes it will matter if she really can't remember names. "I can't think of a reason you'd be looking for me."