application † second wings
Character Information
Name: Vincent Valentine
Age: 61 (27 forever)
Personality: One’s first impression of Vincent would probably be that he’s dark and brooding. This isn’t entirely incorrect, of course, but there are other points beyond the angsty exterior. He seems very cold, level and collected, but isn't entirely uncaring in spite of his history: he likes children, to an extent, having no issue siding with one of them in an argument with Cloud, and even met an accusation that he didn't care about the wellbeing of the planet with confusion. He can be self-centered and get major tunnel vision, but when things start to effect those he cares about or reach a scale too large for one person-or city-to handle, he cares enough to step in and help.
Vincent also seems very unemotional, but is in fact an extremely intense individual; he despises Hojo for everything he did, and presumably always will. He also still has some very powerful feeling for Lucrecia, although his obsession with her has faded quite a bit since the incident with Omega WEAPON and Deepground. Unfortunately, because of his…unique condition, Vincent can’t allow himself to get emotional; his transformations are most commonly triggered by his emotional state.
Vincent isn't particularly conversational and doesn't really make friends. Generally, the people he aligns himself with at this point are the ones who all but force their way into his life and refuse to leave. His lack of care for the rest of the general public is due both in part to what Hojo did to him and his past position as a desk worker assassin. Turks don’t make a lot of friends aside from each other, and there’s no point getting close to someone when snapping at them on a bad day could result in snapping them in two.
This means that under all the neuroses and killing, Vincent is just a little bit awkward, uncomfortable in social situations, and really has little to no idea what to do with himself around people in general. It doesn't help that he has more than his fair share of self-loathing issues, spawned both by what he is and what he’s done. However, since the events of Dirge of Cerberus, Vincent has gone through a great deal of recuperation on the emotional front; he isn’t quite as unstable now, although he’s still quiet and withdrawn.
Strengths: Prior to being experimented on by his rival in love, Vincent was a member of Shin-Ra's Black Ops unit, the Turks. He, with several others, was responsible for doing the company’s dirty work on command, regardless of how dirty the work was, and expected to keep it quiet. As a result, Vincent is highly skilled in the areas of espionage, informational recon, as well as various forms of combat. His primary fighting skills lie in the use of firearms, but he’s also definitely capable of hand-to-hand--his special abilities see to that--as well as the utilization of magic for combat.
After being experimented on, these skills were joined with a whole slew of abilities that probably weren’t meant to live in human skin. Due to everything that was done to him, Vincent’s cells don’t degrade, he doesn’t have to eat or sleep unless he exerts himself. He also has a very high pain threshold, along with accelerated healing abilities, superhuman senses, strength and speed, as well as the ability to fly. His endurance is absolutely inhuman.
As if that wasn’t enough, all Vincent’s special abilities stem from his capability of transforming into a series of monsters; while he appears capable of doing so at will with enough concentration, the shifts most commonly take place when Vincent is under some sort of extreme duress, physical or emotional. When transformed, Vincent takes on a number of powers and strengths, varying depending on what he’s turned into.
Weaknesses: As mentioned above, Vincent most commonly transforms when under some serious stress. Because of this, his control over this power should be considered limited at best, and leaves him constantly biting back on emotional reactions to the most commonplace things. He also tends to flicker in and out of coherence when transformed, occasionally completely aware of his surroundings and others utterly berserk.
Also, while Vincent is technically immortal, he is not invulnerable. He can be damaged; not as easily as a normal human, but easily enough that Vincent has to pick his battles more than most people realize.
Vincent is kind of technologically inept. He doesn’t like to drive, doesn’t like computers, doesn’t like phones. He can use all of them with intermediate proficiency-he’s gotten pretty good with computers at this point, although he’ll never be a hacker-but if given his choice he wouldn’t bother. (The only reason he caved and bought a phone was because both Cloud and Marlene got on his case about it, after all.)
Furthmore, he’s terrible with animals-don’t ask him to ride a chocobo or tend to your cat. Unless said cat is Nanaki. He’s even worse with people, unfortunately, due to various factors and in various ways. He doesn’t socialize well at all, tends to get hung up on things that won’t matter in the long run, and obsesses over the negative things in his life, and has a guilt complex that could probably block out the sun. He has a bad habit pushing everyone away when he’s even slightly upset, and then hiding to avoid having to actually deal with the issue that made him feel that way to begin with. And that, beyond any doubt, is his greatest weakness.
History: Vincent was born in Midgar in 1950 to Grimoire Valentine and his wife, an immigrant from Wutai. His family was fairly well-off due to his father’s position as a leading scientist with Shin-Ra, so Vincent was sent to school earlier than most. He attended the academy the same as most kids intending to make something of themselves, but while the initial plan was to become a man of science like his father, Vincent slowly took a greater interest in the military side of Shin-Ra’s teaching programs, and from there streamlined his curriculum down into something very Turk-specific.
He was recruited fresh from graduation; it would have been sooner, but his connections to the science department assured he was off-limits until he officially outgrew the title of student. His agreement, even excitement to have been chosen by the Turks resulted in a heated argument with his father, culminating in Vincent leaving his family with no intention of going back. With the Turks, Vincent was partnered with Veld Dragoon and quickly rose to be one of the best gunmen the group had ever had-until he was sent on a solo mission to oversee a scientific project in Nibelheim, and play bodyguard to the scientists performing it.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
Since the conclusion of the altercation with DeepGround, Vincent has been working as a Field Agent First Class with the WRO, overseeing the Science and Medical Department to keep less ethical practices at bay for as long as possible. He operates under the alias of Elias Blackwell to anyone below First Class ranking; everyone equal and above knows his real name.
Roleplaying Samples
First person: I can’t believe I’m doing this.
If people learn only one thing from the stack of papers on this table, waiting to be filled and bound, I’d like it to be that this wasn’t my idea. I only agreed because someone posed a valid point about the state of records in the world these days. It’s better since the network was reestablished, but there’s plenty of history that’s been lost in the interim.
Although it’s sad that historians of the future are going to rely on things like this to make their records by, there’s not much else we can do. At least we’re doing something. It’s been a while since I did something.
It’s been longer since I wrote something out by hand. Tifa says my penmanship is awful. She’s probably right, but my part in this is so much more extensive than everyone else’s, and no one can write it for me.
I’ve never told the whole story at once, aloud or in writing, not even in thought. At first I didn’t know where to start. Cloud suggested Nibelheim, but his started there. My part…I know where it started. I’ve just never thought I would have to go back that far.
Writing about my time at the academy is surreal-all that was two, three lives ago. But if Tifa started with the bridge and Cloud started before it, if Yuffie started with the day she learned what materia is, then my part of history needs to start when I was in school. My induction to the Turks, my father, my training, Veld.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. A year ago I’d never have agreed to it, historical accuracy be damned. If the people of the future want to see Aerith as some sort of goddess and Cloud as a god, so be it. Tifa can be a holy warrior, Cid can be a noble man of the stars, Barret can be a walking gun and nothing more, Yuffie can be a perfect princess. That wouldn’t bother me, even now. I would be around to correct it if it got too out of hand. Nanaki, as well; his place in history will never be suspect, so long as he’s alive to tell it.
Now, I’m more concerned about how they would explain me. I keep thinking about Cloud calling me “cool” back on the Highwind, years ago, and wonder how that impression would distort over the next century. History deserves to know what I am, what part I played in everything, and not according to secondhand accounts.
Maybe it’s selfish. Arrogant. But if history is going to remember me, I’d rather they did it right and told the story not of a monster, not of the human vessel for a demigod, not of some…martyr for love. I want history to tell the story of a man who made a mistake, and became the monster, the vessel-maybe even the martyr, on the good days-because of it. If that’s going to happen, I have to write it myself.
At least there’s no one reading over my shoulder.
Third person: “…Chocobos.”
The blank monotone of Vincent’s voice carried oddly well over the wind, emotionless on every level. Given who he was talking to, the lack of emotion was almost more telling than if he had displayed any sort of feeling in his tone.
“Chocobos are the fastest, safest way through the marsh,” Cloud replied, raising his voice to speak over the air rushing around them both. He turned the motorcycle slightly, adjusting toward the buildings swiftly approaching in the distance, and Vincent shifted his weight into the turn, still standing perfectly upright just behind Cloud on the seat.
“Fenrir won’t make it across,” the younger man continued, “and unless you want to pick a fight with a Zolom, we definitely aren’t walking.”
Vincent wanted to say that neither he nor Cloud would have any problem dispatching an oversized Midgar snake, but as the question had been whether or not he wanted to, he held his peace. He could kill one of the things, but the definitely didn’t want to. And with all options considered, Cloud was correct; riding a chocobo would truly be the best way for them to make it through the swamp.
If not for one simple fact.
“Chocobos hate me,” he stated in that same non-tone, folding his arms and leaning his head back slightly to keep a sudden gust of wind from ripping his headband loose.
Cloud slanted a quick look up and back at him, but turned to face forward again and once more shifted their trajectory slightly to better smooth the ride before speaking. “Hojo?”
Vincent blinked, only momentarily confused. He hadn’t put too much thought into animal behavior around him since Cloud woke him up, primary observation centric on human reactions and that troublesome monster magnetism that kept him very busy when he was out in the field alone.
He hadn’t even thought that all the things Hojo had done to him would effect the disposition of a more mundane beast in his presence, chocobos included.
“No,” he replied after a moment, pause long enough for Cloud to at least begin decelerating, the ranch coming up a little bit slower ahead of the vehicle they both rode. “They’ve never liked me.”
They were smart that way.
Cloud slowed to a stop just outside the ranch.
“I doubt the species-wide opinion will have changed,” Vincent concluded. He jumped off the bike in a flurry of tattered red fabric and soft black hair, impact on the ground almost silent.
“…Huh.” Cloud also dismounted. “I guess we’ll see.”
Vincent didn’t make any noise of affirmation, although he could have. He checked to make sure Cerberus was loaded-of course it was loaded, when was it not loaded-with very believable nonchalance. “If anything tries to gore me, you’ll be entirely to blame.”
Cloud gave a quiet chuckle. “Right.” He clapped Vincent on the shoulder and nodded toward the stables. “Come on, Tseng’s team is supposed to meet us in the marsh in an hour. We’d better mosey.”
Vincent frowned, but followed when Cloud moved off toward the large yellow building. He could hear the telltale click of beaks and ruffling of feathers, occasionally joined by low croons or quiet, comfortable chirps.
When Cloud stepped in a ripple of confusion ran through the stabled mounts, bleats of kweh? drifting from within, but it only lasted a matter of seconds. Cloud had never had a problem with animals.
Vincent’s entrance was met quite differently.
Through the cacophony of warking and avian screeches, Cloud gave Vincent a sympathetic look, having to shout over the noise. “You weren’t kidding!”
Vincent narrowed his eyes marginally, wincing automatically at the noise-if anything, it had only gotten worse now as compared to what he remembered from his days with the Turks.
“I think I would prefer the snake.”