When one door shuts... [Complete]

[touchofcrimson]

Characters: Zolf J. Kimbley, Vincent Valentine
Setting: Entrance Room
Time: Day 15
Summary: Arrival of a new houseguest.
Warnings: Uh. Mild violence? As Raile says, they get on like a house on fire.

Comments

Nah, don't be :)

[touchofcrimson]

The pleased look that flickered across his face as the gun was finally removed vanished instantly as his back met the wall none too gently. His smile jerked, last vestiges of politeness slipping away into that cruel and vicious baring of teeth as his hands instantly clapped together, feeling the alchemical power well up in his palms, itching to be released.

He was only too happy to comply.

The claws digging into his throat were sharp, unyielding, but he paid them no heed, both hands shooting out and clamping about the other's arm. He focused, alchemy crackling out from his palms, darting towards soft, vulnerable flesh, ready to tear the very molecules apart, bloodlust welling up in those yellow, eager eyes --

What the --

It resisted his touch, bonds held at impossible angles, strange and this wasn't possible --Suddenly that brilliant smile reappeared, that calm mask returning as he scrutinized Valentine. The glow of alchemy faded, but he didn't release his grasp, clearing his throat before he spoke, giving the tiniest prod of his

[touchofcrimson]

Kimbley held his gaze for a long moment, head cocked to the side in consideration.

"You aren't human." It wasn't a question. "But you're not a homunculus, nor are you a chimera." Fingers idly traced a perfect circle on the banister as he let the silence stretch, watching the slow but sure creep of black on gold.

"Answers," he said abruptly, charming smile marred by the purple splotch blooming on his jaw. "A fair exchange, don't you think? You tell me what I need to know, and I'll reverse the transmutation."

Leaning nonchalantly back against the railing, elbows on the banister, he laced his fingers, settling his palms flat against his abdomen. If the man had any ideas with that gun, Kimbley intended to be able to launch his own attack. "Let's begin with you, Mr. Valentine. Tell me about yourself."

[nightmareofsin]

Vincent stared at him, his expression growing darker and--almost impossibly--more dangerous by the minute. His blacking claws curled, tensing as he stood, pinning Kimbley against the wall with his body, the illusion of size exaggerated by his cloak and clothing. Of all the questions Kimbley could have asked, of all the mocking, insouciant, even facetiously unnecessary questions, he had picked the worst... or perhaps best... one. Vincent was taller than Kimbley, much taller, clearing his head by several inches, and he stared downwards, his red eyes smouldering with something far from human. He could hear it, feel it, clawing at the back of his mind, pushing forward with fangs and...

"A monster." The answer was short, curt, and concise, his gravelly, harsh voice cold--there was barely restrained violence in there... and a thinly veiled challenge; Vincent was not averse to murder.

[touchofcrimson]

Kimbley tensed as the man came far closer then he had expected, warning flaring in his own eyes, even as he stood up straighter, taking on an offensive stance once more, fingers twitching eagerly. The smirk tightened into something a little too full of vicious promise to be entirely polite, though he didn't let it go.

A memory of dark, dank cells, rough wood scraping already-raw wrists, the screams from the lunatics down the hall. The sheer boredom of it all.

"Is that so?" The words were spat out with quiet venom, daring the man to come any closer, to complete the physical cage. Kimbley refused to back down, his own bloodthirst welling up to match the animal hunger he recognized behind that crimson stare. Monster. That could mean anything. Kimbley hardly cared for the answer -- most specimens had inexact, clumsy knowledge of their makeup. If he wished to conduct an examination, he'd trust his own information.

"Where am I?"

[nightmareofsin]

Kimbley didn't know it, but his visible discomfiture--not to mention change of topic--mnay very well have saved him. Vincent did not move backwards, but neither did he advance forwards, his face almost--almost--too close as he ground out his answer. "A house." Kimbley was actually wrong--Vincent knew exactly what had been done to him, or nearly. He could remember almost everything--each and every injection, every scar, every cut and every drop of Mako and JENOVA forced in his agonised body, at least while he was conscious, culminating into one monstrous, terrible, final product... himself. He knew better than anyone (anyone, at least, except for Hojo) what he had been made into, what kind of monster he had become and why, and he was in no mood to allow this dubious reality, this possible figment to pry at things best left unwoken.

"You cannot leave, you cannot break out. There is no exit or functioning door."

[touchofcrimson]

Very few things drew anger from Kimbley, broke him of his gentlemanly facade. Yet this stranger had the gall to look down upon him, belittle him (nevermind that Vincent probably hadn't realized the implication of his words to a combat alchemist honed in destruction and death of anything in his way). Normally, people tended to taunt him from a distance, a habit he corrected with judicious explosions and broad smiles. However, adding that to the unwanted corralling against a wall made for a visibly displeased Crimson Alchemist. His fingers were trembling, from rising ire or an urge to slaughter, he wasn't sure, probably both.

And yet the man was untouchable. If, if Valentine was to believed, the house was also untouchable.

And that was frustrating.

The smile he wore was too wide, too brittle, he knew it -- with effort, he pulled it back into something resembling calm, voice deceptively so. "Are you tasked with keeping me here, then?"

[nightmareofsin]

"No." Vincent's tone turned chilling, dropping to become even colder and flatter than ever before, if such a thing were even possible. His first instinct, first initital reflex was to turn, to walk away, leaving Kimbley still pressed against the wall, uncomfortable and, hopefully, even unsettled, but... the long gold talons tightened, closing further in a dangerous curl. "I have nothing to do with this." This was, possibly, the truth--Vincent had no proof to confirm it one way or another, but if he had created it, had dreamed this and all of its accompniments into existence, it was by no will or intention of his own, and until he could prove it...

His eyes narrowed. "Turn it back. Now."

[touchofcrimson]

At the order, a spark flared in Kimbley's eyes as he stepped forwards the tiniest bit, almost closing what minuscule distance remained.

And yet, unless the man was suicidal, it was extremely unlikely that Valentine would be lying to him. Why concoct a story like this, let alone produce a structure imbued with unnatural, impossible properties? Why play such a ridiculous game?

Unless they were both being played. In that case, he would figure out the solution first.

And suddenly, the tension disappeared from his body, a soft chuckle escaping him as he pressed his palms together, reaching out to the automail. "Of course."

Eyes closing, he concentrated -- undoing the reaction was always rather more complex. "Don't move," he commanded, energy playing up and down the automail and between his fingers.

[nightmareofsin]

Vincent didn't move--even when Kimbley leaned in close, he didn't breathe, didn't even flinch... not even the tiniest hair moved back save what was displaced by Kimbley's own motion, his gaze cold and steady. He continued to stare like that, unblinking, his red eyes fixed even as Kimbley shut his eyes in concentration, his own face a stoic, frightening mask of animosity; his claws twitched, just slightly, in reflexive response to the external stimulation, an action Vincent could not control, even if he had turned his entire will to the task

He said nothing, but needed no words. If he played him false...

[touchofcrimson]

Kimbley felt, not physically, but alchemically, the twitch, molecules moving slightly, a small frown playing across his face. "Hold still," he repeated, the tone, oddly enough, almost soothing, his own mind calmed by the alchemy. It was always so breathtaking, the bonds twisting and molding to his will, even if he much preferred taking the transmutation to a bloody conclusion.

Unlike what most of his detractors believed, however, Kimbley did not simply mindlessly blow up anything. Taking the man's arm now would be but an empty taste, considering the skill and speed Valentine seemed to display with his own weapon. No, he'd wait until he figured out how to do it properly, alchemy lacing all of Valentine's strangeness in a beautiful display of blood and ash. He smiled again at the thought, before reopening his eyes, hand dropping back to his side.

Now, if the man would kindly step away, he had some exploring to complete.

[nightmareofsin]

Vincent's eyes narrowed slightly, but he did not move again--as though it had been his to will to begin with--waiting until Kimbley had completed his alchemy and all traces of electricity and energy had dissipated. Then he raised his mclaw, turning it back and forth to study it, flexing the joints to make sure it was, indeed, both intact and unharmed by the interference--suddenly he dropped it to his side, turning on his heel before walking away, stalking down the hall in eerie silence, his long hair and cape flowing behind him.

If something went wrong later...