tornheart | APPLE ORCHARDS AND TORN DREAMS [OPEN]

Entry tags:

APPLE ORCHARDS AND TORN DREAMS [OPEN]

Who: Open Log (All)
Where: Around the city (one prompt at the Green Valley school
Summary: Welcome Ceremonies, Dreams, Stirring a shadow hornet's nest. No big deal.
Warnings: N/A

"Are you ready my black lambs? Let's get to work..."

Apple Picking (General Prompt)

As September begins, the apple orchards of Greenfield Valley school are bursting with thousands of apples of various flavors and colors. There's even an experimental breed that's blue!

Those who have been attending the school know that this means a few important things. The first (and most important of course) is that it means that fall vacation is coming in just a few weeks (despite school having started just a few weeks ago), the second is that the school's menu is going to have a high number of apple-themed dishes until winter, and finally, the opening ceremonies.

The opening ceremonies are - well - one would consider them mostly boring for typical schools. And truth be told, Green Valley is not an exception. A single camera posed at the school's main gymnasium, a large podium in the center. For those who can't be physically there, the school's televisions all synchronized to a live broadcast as does the audio feeds. You can't quite escape it. Yet most people don't - after all it's one of the rare times of the year where the principal appears to wish students good fortune.

The person who stands in the front, Ms Michelle Andersen, is the very definition of an ice queen. Her face is perhaps locked forever into an emotionless stare. Bright blonde hair with blue eyes, both contract to her orange and black outfit.

Behind her, three men, the vice principals, who tend to play the good cops to her bad cop routine and insist that most students call them by their first names unless something really bad has happened; Norman (the most average man on campus that no one would know who he was if it wasn't for his name tag), Jeremy (the tallest staff member standing at over 195cm, thin, a bit of a lisp but he always means well), and Felix (possibly the hairiest man on campus as far as the rumors go, muscular, and a black beard that matches his scowling face when he isn't laughing - which is usually all the time. In fact, he's holding back himself from doing so when Ms. Andersen speaks.)

The presentation is short, as the Principal wishes all the students a great year, gives a bit of data on the number of students (they are up 300 new students from last year), the number of important guests that have passed, then as quickly as she was there, she leaves, explaining that there are additional meetings and events she will explain in greatest detail in the upcoming months.

Afterwards the students are treated to the vice principals singing a welcome song (it goes as well as one would expect it to go), telling the students that they are free to pick as many apples as they want as long as they all get eaten, but everyone is limited to two of the new apples and report to the hospital wards if any of them feel anything unusual after eating them. Just in case.

When the ceremonies are done, students and staff can return to their day...although some of the staff can be heard commenting that the Principal seemed even more...cold this year. Of course asking them for details would just cause them to shoo anyone away and pretend they didn't say anything.

[OOC: Players are welcome to speak to themselves or go have some apples. It's a general school mingling prompt! Additionally, it will be possible to email the vice principals during that week should the characters want to talk with them or ask school questions. Typical school stuff.]

Sound the Rebellion

(Special Prompt for the Unawakened, Monday the 4th)
The school's opening ceremonies aside, the Unawakened’s Monday was rather...strange. The night was plagued with restlessness as they heard the voice of someone laughing. Waking up feeling 'odd', although that differed between all of then - some would feel sick, others have a headache, or some just deciding that wearing a piece of clothing they haven't wanted to worn would look great right now. Perhaps they got a few comments from their relatives about how strange they were acting that day, or a worried glance if they felt sick. It might get dismissed with a wave of a hand.

After all, how can you explain that when they sometimes look upwards, they hear the sound of a child laughing and briefly see a symbol above their heads? Or that this somehow feels...fine?

Maybe in their new state of mind, they might not even notice the people that keep following them around...

Better than a GPS

(Awakened prompt, Monday 4th, day and night.)
"Alright Lambs, time to get to work."

Luci's voice echoed in their phone, laughing. Was he doing a peace sign?

"There's only a few but they'll be useful. I want you to find them and see what you can do. Who knows! Maybe you might be better at this than me, although I doubt it heh heh heh…Now remember what I said! You have to get them to fall asleep...but there's no real rules for that!"

For the Awakened, the symbols above the Unawakeneds’ heads will be as clear as day - Luci will even go so far as play little musical tunes when the characters are close by or distract them using electronics. "Come on! Stop wasting time and do something!"

For the Unawakened who have a relative, it will be somewhat easy. It is the others that will be a pain. Maybe that's why Luci asked for help. Or maybe he just wanted to see his 'lambs' struggle. "Get them to bed! It's not that hard! If you have trouble, just show them the program I've put into your phone and toaster! Or knock them with your toaster first if you want, I don't care! Just go in teams when you go after them, got it?"

It's obvious that 'sleeping' as far as Luci is concerned, is when someone is unconscious - he seems to almost want someone to knock an Unawakened out and then drag him into a room and let themselves go to sleep.

Once the task is done, and the place is secure, the characters will have to do the same. While the hypnotic wheel from the program is the easiest way, there's no hard rule about knocking oneself out either.

MINDJACK
Once the characters get inside, they'll be in the person's mind and dreams. Eddan's memories are predominant, and the unawakened will be standing there wandering around. It will be up to the Awakened to peel back the fabric of reality, much like curtains and show them the true memories of their past...

But beware. Shadows lurk here, and transforming will be necessarily. And if a character dies in someone else's dream...they might never wake up. So be careful...

The main mission is to showcase the person a few memories. Give them an idea that something might be amiss...it can be a little or a lot. Just be careful that the more memories, the stronger the shadows become... When both are done and awaken, ten minutes will have passed. Perhaps it will be time for question afterwards.

[OOC:The Unawakened characters need to be isolated for the program to run, and so do the players, so half the 'fun' will be setting up the traps so that the characters will be alone.

Awakened might decide to have someone stand on guard while the others go to sleep with the Unawakened, or just all stupidly go together, or find an area where they won't be disturbed - everything is up to you.

The dreamscape can be anything the Unawakened desires! It could be good memories of their time in Eddan or bad memories, a mixture of both, or just silly dreams. Whatever it is, the Awakened will need to 'peel' those memories away - for example showing them that their mother was someone else in their other life, or even directing the person to a mirror so that they can see their true selves. But for each memory - both good or bad, shadows will start to attack both the Unawakened and Awakened. Be careful and let the mods know if a mission goes REALLY bad.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"It's not my fault if it can't keep up."

His mind is already heavily distracted from the tranquil banter, but he can't help replying all the same. There was something calming about this back and forth that eased his mind, unnerving as that was to consider. But he needed that undivided focus now, if he was going to accomplish what he wanted.

"I just want to see..." The pen hovers uncertainly over the paper, as if waiting for instructions from a higher power. Vincent's words have trailed off, but in actuality there was nothing more for him to add - he wanted to see. To put that strange fixation into action, to carve out something useful from this unbidden intuition.

There was a term for that in more flaky social circles, he thought. What was it again? Opening your third eye.

Slowly, carefully, he begins to draw. His mind is completely blank, leaning heavily on what he imagines what must be Kit's own energy as his hands go to work. They'd combined once to create a puncture in this frustrating web of the unknown. They could do it again.

With the same grim determination he puts into everything he does, something recognizable begins to emerge. A circle coiled around the teardrops - no, a snake. An ouroboros, tail clenched wickedly between its teeth just above what it seemed to be protecting. Dark little scales cover its entire body, and directly opposite from its head is a small kink, as if someone had tried to beat their way through the guardian to reach those eyes.

Vincent remains silent once he finishes, pen tip still pressed heavily to the paper. The mythology is clear, but he doesn't recognize what he's drawn at all. It's obvious from his expression that he's trying to divine meaning from it as much as Kit must be.

"Ouroboros..."

Kit stares at the shape Vincent has drawn, its visage unmistakable. He didn't see it around the symbol earlier, and yet somehow, beyond his ability to explain things, he feels his companion is right. This snake completes the glyph somehow.

The tail-eater has many meanings in different cultures, but among them infinity is shared. As well, renewal...such as death and rebirth. But there is another meaning. Alchemists had believed it signified the union between the conscious and unconscious minds.

Combined, it's almost as if the symbol they both saw has something to do with some sort of...

"...awakening?"

And just like that, Vincent can feel the return of that peculiar headache of his. It pierces straight through the center of his forehead, as if something beneath the skin of straining to emerge. He's lucky this time - it isn't even close to being as debilitating as the ones in the aquarium had been. If anything, it's a small price to pay for the confirmation that they were on the right track.

He closes one eye briefly to mitigate the auras creeping along the edge of his sight, murmuring "Sight."

To see the world as it truly was. To awaken to the truth. That was what that judgemental little eye in the center of their symbol was telling them.

With a silent puff of breath he relinquishes his grip on the pen, allowing it to gently roll backwards into Kit's waiting hand. He doesn't quite know what to do with this new information (or perhaps he does) and so he settles for his well-worn defense of faint irritation. "I'd rather just fight the snake."

The ache behind his eyes and beating through his skull from one temple to the other is familiar, and one Kit is prepared for. It shocks him at nearly the same time as Vincent, but the strength of the attack is inferior to those they'd experienced before. Perhaps because it is the first one either of them has endured today?

In any case, Kit accepts his notebook and pen, returning both to an inside pocket of his jacket. The symbols are things he will be looking into more in the days to come, with a particular focus on all the possible ways they could relate to one another. He would force open his own eyes if that's what it took.

Probably, Vincent feels much the same.

"I believe I still owe you a spar," Kit says. He can do nothing to help Vincent come to blows with the serpent wrapped around that symbol, but he can keep a promise he made not to hold back. And besides, they've spent long enough in this alleyway. If they don't move again soon, all their work escaping will be for naught and their position will be discovered.

"You really think you're in any condition to do that today?"

The words are sardonic, bordering on playful, as Vincent seems to read his companion's mind and begins leisurely walking out of the alley. It's a more than welcome distraction from his last display of seeming clairvoyance, one that he'd take up even if his concern were legitimate, if he was being honest with himself.

He didn't like to be kept in the dark, just as much as he resented being ordered what to do. If there was some secret flowing beneath the veins of this city, he'd see it on his own terms. It was absolutely unacceptable to wait until some unseen power deemed him 'ready' to grapple with the truth. Those thoughts were what quickened his blood now and made the idea of a fight sound particularly appealing.

Kit's laughter is nearly melodic.

"I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't in optimal condition. I gave my word, didn't I?" That the next time they fought he wouldn't hold back. He has to be at his absolute best to make good on such a promise and, while it's true he's been feeling a little out of sorts all day, he is certain his physical capabilities haven't been compromised.

In fact, the promise of such an exciting activity after dancing on the edge for most of the day could be just what he needs to relieve some tension. Doubtless, based on his demeanor and the sound of his voice, Vincent feels the same way.

"Do you know a place? You can lead this time, and I will follow."

"People say a lot of shit," he tosses back at Kit, tone completely devoid of any actual accusation. In the same mystifying way that he enjoys the sound of making his companion truly laugh, he knows that this is a promise that will be kept to the letter. It was just the way things were.

Vincent continues walking even before being giving 'permission' to dictate their location, his steps brisk and unable to contain the energy circulating through him. He does tilts his head back slightly to look at the other boy, sarcastic as always. "Not going to try and figure it out on your own, then? Lazy."

He does have a specific location in mind, though; they'd been fortunate to come out where they had, so close to one of the only parks still surviving in Hagu. It had clearly been built before the district had fallen into the sad state of the present, judging by its comparatively impressive size. The park itself was poorly kept now and often filled with riffraff, but it was also the perfect place for a fight like theirs.

Given the expansive nature of the place, it was easy to seclude oneself from the rest of the world for a time. They wouldn't be bothered at all once they found an acceptable clearing.

If genuine laughter from his companion is what Vincent likes to hear, then he's fortunate. His playful barb earns exactly that from Kit as he slips free of the alley's mouth, one falling swiftly in line behind the other. In fact, he keeps so close that it's questionable whether or not he already knows where Vincent plans to set the stage for their fight.

"I've had enough hunting for one day," Kit answers truthfully, but there's mischief in his voice mingling unabashedly with even more humor. "Of course, if you think you can lose me, you're welcome to try."

But he seems to recall Vincent describing him as impossible to get rid of...which is precisely why the curve of his lips is so smug. Almost daring Vincent to try, and at the same time, almost hoping that he won't. While a chase has a certain appeal, it will without question diminish their stamina and lower their ability to perform once they arrive at their destination.

And that would be most disappointing.

It really is amazing how easily the tones of Kit's amusement can settle his companion's disposition. A dare like that would typically have flared his temper almost immediately, resulting in his breaking into a sprint wordlessly at best. Instead Vincent merely shakes his head, letting out a noise that sounds faintly admonishing.

"As if I'd fall for something so obviously. You're not ducking out that easily." What better way to meet that smug grin than by spinning his own words back around to make his companion appear to be a coward? He wasn't willing to allow them to tax themselves unnecessarily before the fight, but such an annoying challenge couldn't go without comment.

Kit didn't respond except to smile at his companion's back, equally moved by the ease of their banter. It shouldn't be so simple for two virtual strangers to develop such a rapport, but then, they'd already established that they weren't the sort of people who mindlessly obeyed all the rules.

He was silent until they reached the park, the territory one that he recalled having passed through often enough a year go. For existing within a city as green as Eddan, it was a wonder such a place could smell so foul...but perhaps that less to do with the park itself and more to do with the dregs of society that it attracted.

They weren't Vincent's and his concern, of course. All that mattered now was finding a suitable place there far removed from any busybodies, a place where Kit could remove his jacket and lay it down and out of the way without needing to fear turning his back and having it stolen. Such a place didn't take them long to discover, and after folding his coat beneath a tree, Kit stretched his arms overhead.

"Anything goes?"

He makes a vague noise of assent as he follows Kit's lead and unburdens himself of anything that might get in the way during their fight; the jacket is flung carelessly on top of his companion's while his guitar case is hung gently from a low tree branch. They may be in a secluded area, but he refused to make it easy for any potential thieves to make off with his instrument.

His gaze wanders idly across the clearing they've staked for themselves, mostly checking to ensure there weren't any stray needles laying in wait. As he removes the more easily grabbed piercings in his face and ears he deigns to give a verbal response. "So long as you keep away from the guitar, otherwise I'll really kill you."

It's phrased as a hard-edged sort of joke, but Vincent doesn't doubt that there's a kernel or two of truth in the matter. He didn't react well to people tampering with his things.

"Did you forget already?"

He wasn't the type to take hostages. There was no honor in fighting that way, if such a thing could be fighting at all. Kit would manipulate his opponents or play mind games with them, perhaps even lead them into believing he might harm something of theirs, or someone, but he would never take a real hostage. His opponent always would be the person standing before him, and while he would be their adversary, he would not be the greatest challenge they had to face.

Their own minds presented the greatest hurdle of all, and if they failed to clear the doubts that would arise, they would tear down their own walls for him.

Perhaps it was cruel to turn a man against himself, but it was also smart. Kit seldom had regrets letting another be the cause of his own defeat. It was the cleanest way to win any battle.

Nevertheless, he offered his guarantee, "You needn't worry. Personal effects are off limits. The only one I am interested in fighting is you."

He hadn't forgotten, but he also knew how fights went, especially those without restrictions. In the heat of battle it was all too easy to be overcome with bloodlust and toss someone into items that weren't meant to be involved in the clash. This way he'd covered his own ass in the event that he really did have to attempt to break Kit's neck.

Not that he really expects he'll have to, if he's being honest with himself. They were both too thrilled to be facing each other to do anything that might compromise the purity of this fight. It was unspoken but still tangible, like the electricity crackling in the air between them.

With one last toss of the piercings onto his jacket, Vincent strides away from the tree to put a more acceptable length between them. His expression is nonchalant, but there's no disguising the flames burning behind his eyes. He's been waiting for this since they made their little agreement.

"You damn well better be," he laughs, cocky as always. "Just remember that you asked for this."

Kit's cheer was uninterrupted as he followed the other boy away from the tree, but the moment they'd settled upon a safe distance away from their belongings, his disposition changed at once.

It was as if a curtain had been pulled back, and the face revealed to have been behind was cold and hard. His green eyes burned with a similar fervor, his anticipation for this fight having been mounting since they'd made their promise, but it seemed Kit wasn't eager to waste even a single ounce of energy on anything unnecessary between them.

Rolling up the sleeves of his sweater, his left arm first and then his right, he addressed his opponent.

"Anything else goes, then. Except killing." Simple rules. With only one final amendment. "There are two ways to win: knockout or forfeiture. If you accept...then we can commence."

When was the last time he'd really fought someone? Their clash at the aquarium didn't count, not for true. And it had been several months since he'd been released from juvie. Even then, during his year in that place, he hadn't gone toe-to-toe with anyone who looked at him with the same fire behind their eyes that Vincent possessed. As though, if he was reckless, he could be reduced to nothing more than a smoldering shadow scorched into the earth's crust.

It made the blood within him boil like it was alive.

Knockout or forfeiture? Vincent doesn't say it aloud, but his thoughts may as well be splashed across his face: if his opponent wanted even a hope at winning, he was going to have to put him out. Nothing but unconsciousness would keep him from rising to his feet every time.

He can see an identical sentiment echoed in Kit's transformed expression, even if the other boy didn't mean to. That icy stare must terrify others unlucky enough to have fallen under its gaze, but it seems to have the opposite effect here. Rather than chill, he feels his entire body go hot at the mere idea of what such a look promises; he returns it with a grin that's half-feral already.

There's no point in words now. All that was left was to act.

Without warning Vincent charges forward, rushing in at full strength. He doesn't expect to be able to tackle him so early in the bout, but there's no chance of winning if he goes into things without confidence. He knew he was fast enough to dance out of the way should things go poorly.

By no means weak, Kit's physical capabilities were still very human. His greatest strength by far had nothing to do with the speed at which he could run or the power behind the blows his arms and legs could deliver. Above the ornate butterfly knife he'd left in his jacket pocket or even his own bare hands, Kit's preferred weapon and by far his greatest advantage...was his intelligence.

When last Vincent and he had fought, his movements had been clumsy and his strategy lacking. He'd been lucky to think as clearly as he had, to keep from cracking both their skulls wide open on the concrete steps in the stairwell, but he was a very different person now.

Unwavering in his calm, Kit awaited Vincent's close proximity before he finally showed any indication of moving, and then it was quick. A flash, even. Permitting the other boy to get in close enough, to reach out, and then he struck three blows in rapid succession. A sharp jab to the pressure point on the back of Vincent's hand, another driven into the radial nerve of his forearm, and the final hook across his jaw to send him reeling in the opposite direction, allowing him to spring off towards the left. From there he was able to assess his opponent and plan his next attack.

Kit may have finally been able to fight as his natural self, but in many ways his opponent was much the same as when they'd last faced each other. Physical clashes are heavily reactive - in Vincent's mind there is nothing that can't be overcome by giving in to one's instincts. Strategy can only carry one so far when the human mind can be so unpredictable after being backed into a corner.

Even so, there's a ragged edge to him that was absent from the aquarium. He intends to keep his promise of not holding back, and that means discarding any thoughts of restraint. It's like he's released a wild animal in the middle of this park, and he relishes every minute.

The pain the other boy visits upon him does nothing to dampen his growing frenzy - the grunt he emits as he stumbles backwards is practically satisfied despite the failure of his attack. Now he knows that Kit is one of those irritating cerebral fighters with the anatomical knowledge to back up his style; it just meant that when he finally managed to latch on, he absolutely could not let go.

That was fine. He hadn't been intending to anyway.

His arm will take a few moments to recover from the injuries visited upon them, but Vincent doesn't give them any time to do so safely. He moves forward again almost instantaneously, looking to use his other arm to sock Kit in the gut hard enough to induce vomiting. Now that he's aware the other boy can keep up with his movements, he's prepared to counter whatever offensive defense his opponent decides to visit upon him this time.

Kit would never dispute the advantage that acute instincts could provide. Lending a certain unpredictability to a fighter, it was the perfect trump card against anyone who relied as heavily on strategy as himself.

However, that did not mean that he was without his own intuition, and his was as sharp as Vincent's own, forged in the fires of Eddan's seedy underbelly, and sharpened to a lethal edge by adversity.

If there was one thing he had learned how to do, it was endure. Pain was a window, after all. Opened, it allowed a man to assess the state of his being and told him when enough was enough; closed, it afforded him the ability to surpass his limits, including his threshold for pain. Ignoring the body's way of communicating with the brain was of course ill-advised, but as Vincent's arm swung for his gut, Kit was grateful for being able to stall his thoughts and simply react.

There wasn't time to dodge or deflect, he knew that in an instant. But if he curled around the other boy's arm he could trap it...and he did.

Spittle flew from parted lips as air was forced from his lungs, throat clenching as it fought to keep down the contents of his stomach. His body folded neatly around that sacrificed limb, his arms ensnaring it like the jaws of a steel trap, unwilling to relinquish their hold. But he was not on the defensive, his back not yet pressed to the wall. With his opponent's arm captured, he attacked...driving his heel down towards the pressure point atop Vincent's nearest foot.

"Might as well let it out now."

He could practically hear Kit's muscles convulsing in its struggle to keep from acting on the natural instinct to hurl, a sound which delighted him enough to prompt a remark even in the heat of battle. Shouldn't he be more concerned about the armlock currently being visited upon him? Probably. But he's never been one for typical priorities.

This time he sees his opponent's train of thought early enough to muster up a reaction. His trapped fist digs into Kit's shirt and latches on to the skin underneath it, as if he isn't confident in the other boy's ability to hold him there on his own. The moment that his foot rises to try and smash into his own he acts, using the leftover momentum from his previous charge and the adrenaline pumping through him to ram into him with his entire body.

In the best case scenario, it'll topple them both. At worst, he'll have agitated an already troubled stomach. Either way, he's willing to take the chance that Kit's own attack will connect before he's done with his follow-up. The reward was worth it.

He wouldn't. He absolutely wouldn't give Vincent the pleasure of seeing him in such an undignified state, just as he refused to acknowledge the other boy's taunt with anything but an unwavering stare.

The pinching of his opponent's nails through the front of his shirt stung like a handful of angry wasps, but Kit did not falter. He could feel blood rising already to the surface of those gouges, but they wouldn't be the first wounds his body had received, nor the last. The important part, even as Vincent threw all of his weight into him, was that he still had the other boy's arm trapped.

It was a familiar sensation, reeling backwards together in midair for what felt like an eternity, but the ground rushed up more quickly to meet them here than it had in the stairwell, and this time Kit was prepared for it. Once his shoulders met the grass, Kit finally relinquished his hold on Vincent's arm in favor of seizing him by the shirt instead. A knee drove up between his opponent's legs and, using that leverage, he forced his opponent's weight over his head and rolled with him until he had reversed their positions.

He was smiling as he gazed down at Vincent, tugging him up by the grip he had on his shirt. And that smile remained even as he slammed the other boy back down, visiting upon him the same pain he'd endured the last time they had come to blows.

Loathe though he was to admit it at any time, especially in a moment like this, Vincent's size was a distinct disadvantage to him. Resist as he might, there was simply no way for him to prevent being upended - although his wild struggles do leave the sound of tearing fabric all throughout his descent.

The growl that escapes him now is significantly less amused, eyes burning fire as he glares up at his newfound captor. Now more than ever he wanted to rip his intestines straight from the other boy's stomach, a sentiment that is almost impossible to miss. So much for dampening his fighting spirit.

His body screams in pain as Kit smashes him into the ground, but somehow it only grants his mind the ability to think more clearly. Perhaps it's the anger. He wraps his hands around those of his opponents, seemingly attempting to grapple with them and force him into releasing his grip; the truth of the matter, however, is a bit sneakier than that.

When Kit pulls his hands up a second time, he'll find that the only thing rising with them is the segment of shirt that he's ripped off. By the time he processes that he'll have an even bigger problem to deal with - Vincent rushing up of his own accord with a vicious headbutt.

This close, Kit only had the upper hand so long as he could keep the other boy from countering any of his attacks. Vincent might have been small, but his strength was great, and the moment Kit felt that strip of fabric tear free he knew he'd made a mistake.

But there wasn't any time to correct it, not as his momentum had carried him back and Vincent shot upwards, forehead driving into his own with enough force he thought for sure he'd lost feeling in his arms. He saw double, triple even, in between the waves of black that clouded his vision, but instinct guided him through the dancing phantoms before his eyes and allowed him to fight the hold on his wrists. Allowed him to tighten his hands around Vincent's neck.

He could feel that if nothing else, the wild pulse drumming against his fingers like a siren in the dark, beating harder as he squeezed...or was it his own pulse he felt, racing inside his chest and pounding behind the walls of his skull...?

Their skulls collide so forcefully that Vincent can feel his teeth chattering, jaw attempting to physically relocate itself from the scene of such violence. He can't see a goddamn thing, but he certainly feels when his opponent fights past his spirited resistance and begins strangling him.

A choked gasp escapes him, forced out along with the rest of the air in his throat. He retaliates immediately, pushing past his throbbing head and blinded vision with the sort of power that only adrenaline can provide. He'd been unable to prevent this from happening, but his hands were still clutching onto Kit's; they turn from a vice to claws, ripping and tearing deep into every inch of his wrists and hands he can reach. If he hits anything sensitive then his foe will bleed out long before he loses consciousness.

His legs move as well, fighting underneath Kit's bulk to slam into him repeatedly with as much force as he can possibly muster given the current circumstances. It would be far wiser to simply admit defeat after being backed into such a corner, but the thought never crosses his mind. He refused to go down until the other boy had expended every last ounce of energy on him.

There was a surprising amount of strength in Kit's grip, even as Vincent's sharp nails raked across their surface, scraping and clawing in attempt to free his throat. But the trouble with tearing at his flesh was that, after so long, he failed to feel any pain. One sensation bled into the next, the burning so intense it faded altogether from his awareness, and as a result his hold only tightened...

...at least until he simply couldn't hold on any longer, his fingers giving an involuntary spasm before letting go.

Though whether that was due to the amount of blood he'd lost through them or the way Vincent's knees hammered up from below, it was difficult to say.

He curled as his body slumped towards the other boy, a low hiss of breath leaving him from in between clenched teeth. There was so much red mingled with the black spots in his vision. Was it over? Was this all the fight that he had left?

No. He hadn't yet said the words, still had his consciousness, and with it the determination to fight back whatever the odds. But first he needed to get away.

It was risky, but with his hands relinquishing that throat and the other boy no doubt greedily sucking in much needed oxygen, he might get away with it. Smearing his blood across Vincent's field of vision and, if he was lucky enough not to miss, striking him with his elbow before rolling off and to the side. It would be at least a minute before he could get to his feet again, his knees shaking as bad as they were, but if that act of desperation could buy him enough time perhaps he'd be okay...

It's with unmitigated gratitude that Vincent allows air to rush back into his lungs, completely heedless of the ugly noises he makes as he does so. He has only the vaguest sense of where anything is currently, the darkness of intense strangulation mingling with his already damaged vision to leave nothing but faint shapes and flickers.

Even this is robbed from him when Kit thrusts an ungodly amount of his own blood right into his eyes, drawing a labored hiss of pain from him as they begin to burn anew. He couldn't have stopped him even if he'd seen the attack coming, not in this weakened state. As he coughs from the additional blow visited upon him before his opponent makes his escape, he hears his own voice echo through his mind with unfamiliar words.

Kurama, have you lost your mind!?

Now was not the time for this. His addled brain pushes the recollection of more blood, more pain to the side in favor of focusing on the here and now. It would be wise for him to take some time to recover - at least wipe the blood out of his eyes - but Vincent never even considers it. Instead he rolls over with a grunt, forsaking even delivering more oxygen to his body in favor of continuing the chase.

He can't see, and he can't use his legs to any useful degree, but he can still hear and crawl. With Kit as battered as he was he didn't have the wherewithal to mask his retreat; all he had to do was follow the sounds and hold it together until he could at least grasp onto a foot...

and then getting super shafted after unnecessarily killing one of my favorite characters

stop liking the wrong people then

DID YOU MEAN 'EVERYONE IN SBR WHO ISN'T JOHNNY'???

👉φ

i don't understand what that's supposed to mean

it's obviously johnny's hand + the symbol for the golden ratio

oh did you mean the hand that shot Valentine for no particularly good reason???

i think the dead sea needs its salt back

what the fuck has the dead sea ever done for anyone

provided salt. and maybe other minerals. idfk. i'm not an encyclopedia i just play one

doesn't sound very useful. mine now.

well, at least i know you'll make good use of it

yeah, in poisoning myself and everyone i can take down with me

what a delicious way to go

i've always wanted to be pickled

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