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You wouldn't steal a boy
In the moment immediately after the action there is only silence, everything utterly frozen.
The old man in front of Vanitas coughs, blood dripping out his mouth. He makes a noise - he can't speak. Keyblades can cut through nearly whatever they wish and the bone of a ribcage isn't an obstacle. Eventually, his widened eyes dull and his weight slumps and drags the tip of Void Gear down, the keyblade sliding out of the wound it punctured half with only the force of it's summoning. Vanitas realizes, in a distant and offhand way, that this is the same guy depicted in all the portraits and statues all over the place.
He stares down at the body, blood still dripping from the Keyblade's tip onto the floor at his side. It doesn't seem entirely real. Why did he do that?
This morning, the biggest worry on Vanitas's mind had been the failure of a magic lesson. He'd been angry and fuming less because of it, and more because of all the little things it had been the final straw for. Darkness this and light that. That was it, Vanitas had decided. He was running away. It was a quick and simple decision, and he had found his way through a tunnel of darkness into another world, which was new and interesting in and of itself, and definitely a worthy distraction.
He'd spent some time exploring the white stone buildings and streets, all oddly empty, then a house that contained splashes of colour. It was extensive, with rooms and halls folding in on themselves. A keyblade made short work of the many and myriad locks, even if it was annoying to use it on near every single door. What was initially novel became vaguely, indefinably foreboding. It was in the bloodied bandages he found in a rubbish bin. It was in the odd way the pantry was stocked. It was in the pristine, white, show-home room he still stood in the empty doorway of, with it's bookshelves with no books on them.
I can never go back, Vanitas had told himself this morning, and Vanitas now considers this a stupid, petty and childish thought, like a little kid declaring they were a cloud for a day. Because now, with the blood of some random stranger on his shaking hands, he really can't go back. He's proved them all right. Behind him, he can feel his shadow ripple and swell.
The old man in front of Vanitas coughs, blood dripping out his mouth. He makes a noise - he can't speak. Keyblades can cut through nearly whatever they wish and the bone of a ribcage isn't an obstacle. Eventually, his widened eyes dull and his weight slumps and drags the tip of Void Gear down, the keyblade sliding out of the wound it punctured half with only the force of it's summoning. Vanitas realizes, in a distant and offhand way, that this is the same guy depicted in all the portraits and statues all over the place.
He stares down at the body, blood still dripping from the Keyblade's tip onto the floor at his side. It doesn't seem entirely real. Why did he do that?
This morning, the biggest worry on Vanitas's mind had been the failure of a magic lesson. He'd been angry and fuming less because of it, and more because of all the little things it had been the final straw for. Darkness this and light that. That was it, Vanitas had decided. He was running away. It was a quick and simple decision, and he had found his way through a tunnel of darkness into another world, which was new and interesting in and of itself, and definitely a worthy distraction.
He'd spent some time exploring the white stone buildings and streets, all oddly empty, then a house that contained splashes of colour. It was extensive, with rooms and halls folding in on themselves. A keyblade made short work of the many and myriad locks, even if it was annoying to use it on near every single door. What was initially novel became vaguely, indefinably foreboding. It was in the bloodied bandages he found in a rubbish bin. It was in the odd way the pantry was stocked. It was in the pristine, white, show-home room he still stood in the empty doorway of, with it's bookshelves with no books on them.
I can never go back, Vanitas had told himself this morning, and Vanitas now considers this a stupid, petty and childish thought, like a little kid declaring they were a cloud for a day. Because now, with the blood of some random stranger on his shaking hands, he really can't go back. He's proved them all right. Behind him, he can feel his shadow ripple and swell.
it's just one problem... made of lots of little problems
Contrary to what Nobodies might say, thinking is difficult with a sudden dearth of emotion. It's the force behind motivation, so what's left is mindless observation, a ticker-tape record of events passing in and out.
Fortunately (or unfortunately depending on your point of view), Vanitas's state is temporary. The shockwave knocks him to the ground along with Ventus, the shrapnel thrown up by the feathers close behind. Pain arrives, followed by its partner, fear. With them comes a force of habit pressing down, like shying away from a hot stove, and the rest builds from there.
Vanitas's first coherent and most abiding thought is that he fucking hates how many times he's hit the ground in the last fifteen minutes. He nods reflexively in response to Ventus's yelling and attempts to drag him, hissing as his dislocated shoulder is jarred. The pain brings a little further clarity and he starts more actively participating in his own running away. The large blades that embedded themselves in the ground lift a little, which is the only warning before they rip themselves out, spinning in deadly fashion as they return like boomerangs back to their progenitor. Vanitas ducks to avoid getting a lethal haircut. He isn't even thinking of anything near fighting this thing right now - getting to safety is current top and only priority.
"No, really? Here I was thinking this was the perfect spot for a nap," he mutters in belated snark. Just the idea of using anything resembling magic makes his heart twinge in warning, but he runs a little faster and plants his good shoulder in Ventus's back before flash-stepping, sending them flying like the last ball of a Newton's cradle through the little clearing before the gates of the mansion. Behind them, the Wingblade Unversed utterly shreds a tree to woodchips on it's way towards them, and screeches again.
Vanitas scrambles to his feet with the speed of adrenaline and hurriedly summons Void Gear, pointing it at the chains entertwining the gate which rattle and then fall loose in what feels like agonizing slow motion, glancing wild-eyed over his shoulder back towards it. "Hurry, hurry."
HE WANTS ZERO PROBLEMS. ZERO.
Ventus ignores Vanitas's stupid joke, because he has no sense of humor and also thinks everything Vanitas has ever done ever is stupid and unnecessary. Drawing breath to say that was unnecessary. Doesn't he have anything better to do?
Before he can ignore Vanitas harder to demonstrate his pure disdain, Vanitas shoulders checks him, making Ventus do one of those funny surprise exhales again. The force of the flashstep is absolute murder against his ribs, and when Vanitas stops there is no warning and Ventus can't manage to tuck his body in correctly, and he falls to his face with a crack. Ow. His nose.
Hurry, Hurry. Vanitas says but Ventus is staring dizzly into the dirt for the time being, pushing himself up a little to display a really tremendous bloody nose and dazed expression. He watches Vanitas blankly for a half second, before the Wingblade Unversed screams again and he remembers exactly why he has this much adrenaline in his system right now. The second the door is open he is barreling through it, not giving a second glance to Vanitas as he shoves it open and pulling out Wayward Wind as he runs--trying to lock it again. Vanitas probably got through at some point. Probably.
He manages to make it to the steps of the mansion before he collapses to his hands and knees, coughing. He'd probably throw up if he had anything in his stomach, but he ate yesterday, not that his body is complaining. Wayward Wind dissipates for a second, leaving his hands free as he tries to claw together the energy for a Cura, a green glow ebbing at his finger tips as he pats at his ribs. The monster might still be chasing them even here. He just needs a second to try and patch himself up. To breathe...he needs to breathe.
At one point he looks up for Vanitas, still gasping a little.
"What...on earth...?" Is all he can gasp weakly.
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The gates buck inward and rattle as the Unversed hits them with another blast of air, and then it's full weight. It takes one of the six large blades from its back and holds it like a sword the size of a small aircraft wing, cutting across the gate and wall with a harsh slash. Somehow both hold.
Vanitas doesn't want to stick around to see if it can fly. As far as he's concerned, they won't be safe until they're inside the mansion proper, and Ventus is the one wasting time. Hurry up and heal, Ventus.
"Do I look like I know?" He says, for all that he made the thing. Unlocking the front door is the perfect excuse to look away from Ventus. Today has been a day of learning unpleasant things about himself and what he's capable of.
Vanitas has made less and less Unversed over time, but he knows it's specific recurring kinds that show up. He's never seen anything like this one before, and it occurs to him that at some point he'll have to take it back. He doesn't want to. He really, really doesn't want to. But he can't just leave it. Even leaving aside the issue of it trapping them in a mansion, the first person to attack it is going to end up like that tree. Anyone with eyes can see that it's dangerous.
Vanitas participates in the time-honoured tradition of making something future-Vanitas's problem and kicks open the mansion doors, elbowing his way through with the butt of his Keyblade. He stops one or two steps inside the foyer and gestures to Ventus impatiently. "Get in."
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Ventus has a very snarky monotone reply about how Vanitas is definitely the person who should know everything about the Unversed because he makes them but unfortunately he's distracted by the sound of the Unversed screeching and his own shoddy healing job. He pats at his own chest further, the Cura smelling vaguely of flowers Ventus has no context for. The warmth that blooms is a welcome relief, and he sighs.
"I'm coming!" He groans back, pushing himself up and wiping his nose on his (conveniently black!) sleeve. He stumbles the rest of the way into the foyer, letting Vanitas do the closing this time.
Once his eyes adjust its clear the mansion is a mess. He nearly trips over a fallen beam and all the portraits and walls are dark and smokey looking. A fire maybe? Or just age?
He knows they should continue to run but Ventus needs a little more time to heal thank you, and spotting a dusty run down couch in a room nearby, makes a beeline for it. He sits down again, fingers sparking as he makes another Cura spell and brings it up to his face, and then tending other wounds with a cold mechanical efficiency. The anger in his demeanor leaches away a little, but so does most of the emotion on his face. It's the same sort of blank faced composure he had when they first met, though its obvious the facade isn't nearly as complete. There's plenty Ventus has to be mad about right now, its just clear right now isn't the time to get emotional about it.
"Do I look like I know." He finally repeats, throwing Vanitas's words back at him as he stares over at Vanitas. "I'd actually be more interested in why you wouldn't Vanitas. You've made thousands of unversed, clearly. Why set something like the remment on yourself now." Yeah please explain that. What the fuck is your deal.
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Vanitas wastes no time shutting the doors and pointing his keyblade at them. Silver and black chains briefly cross the door in an X before vanishing into motes. He kicks the doors twice to test their hold and nods.
While Ventus makes a beeline for the couch, Vanitas paces around the foyer looking at and poking objects with Void Gear until the restless wound-up energy that wants to be Floods dissipates more naturally. Unlike Ventus, he feels they're decently safe in here as long as they don't go outside, and that helps a great deal, especially since he doesn't want to so much as look at an Unversed right now.
Ventus seems to have healing well in hand, anyway, the smell of flowers filling the air. There's not much Vanitas's meager-to-non-existent skill in the area could add to the party - he has the familiar urge to call Aqua over instilled by a year of occasional training accidents, quickly stifled by the remembrance she's not here. Vanitas's mind naturally shunts the thought and emotions associated away before anything can happen.
Finally, the room thoroughly inspected, Vanitas stalks over to where Ventus is, dismisses his keyblade, and leans against a wall, looking out into the foyer. He turns his head when Ventus speaks. The cold, dry tone feels... weirdly nostalgic, and definitely like he's being scolded by Eraqus. Vanitas doesn't appreciate it coming from someone who looks like a broom given human form, although it's debatable he would it coming from anyone at all. His eyes narrow.
First of all... "I didn't set it on anything, it was born pissed." Probably because it was made of a ton of Unversed he'd already aggroed (likely also because as Ventus's ire, Vanitas would naturally be a target of it). Ventus's statement of him having made thousands of Unversed isn't wrong - Vanitas hasn't been counting but he wouldn't be surprised - but something about it still rankles. "I've never seen anything like that before." Not even this 'remnant'.
Normally Vanitas is very fine with people assuming he knows more than he does, and equally reluctant to admit he doesn't. Here it's been nothing but confusing and aggravating. "Why, is it a surprise? You clearly have all the answers here, Mr. half-of-me." A lot was happening at the time but he does remember that. He also remembers being told Xehanort should have let him die. It's not kindly predisposing him to Ventus.
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Of course, it was even harder to relax when the one and only person capable of making unversed was in the same room as him. As Vanitas locked the door and paced, Ventus watched him with the same air one would watch a ticking time bomb, or perhaps an especially hungry tiger. He narrowed his eyes when Vanitas came into the same room as him, but said nothing.
When Vanitas started to talk continued to stare at him like that, the same half empty guarded glare. A few times he opens his mouth to respond, only to shut it and scowl at the floor.
"Ok. Fine." He finally says, leaning back with a sigh. He glares vaguely at the ceiling as if it is to answer for all his troubles. "I thought I understood. But nothing you do makes any sense." He gestures vaguely with his hands, wishing for the comforting weight of his keyblade even though he knows its not worth the minute effort to summon it. "Here's what I know. Once upon a time Master Xehanort had an apprentice so useless at using his darkness that it had to be separated from him to be worth anything. That's you, by the way. I don't know what this Terra or whatever has been telling you. Or where you've been. Or how you got that face in the last..."
He trails off. He's not actually sure how long its been since they were separated. Xehanort hasn't told him. He scowls, glossing over it and hoping Vanitas won't notice. "....last whatever. Clearly you haven't gotten any less hysterical and useless. And you still make unversed." He jabs a finger at Vanitas. "I meanwhile stuck around, cleaning up your mess until you showed up and killed Master Xehanort." Ah, there is the aura of bloodlust again. It's restrained, but Ventus sure is angry now that he has a second. He was...Attached.
"Anyway. Thats...thats all." He grunts, leaning forward to stare at his hands. "I don't get if your a monster, or stupid, or trying to mess with me. But I'm not going to take it. The second I've rested I'm killing that thing." And dragging Vanitas back to the graveyard...but he's not gonna mention that.
he'd lose his membership
"That's your fault," Vanitas says. He was doing fine not making them until this disaster right now. He had it under control. Stop looking at him like he's a monster.
He is.He forces himself not to twitch when Ventus jabs at him with a finger. Guilt is definitely a negative emotion, and he has to try and hold it's head down underwater because it's also not helpful right now."Fuck off," Vanitas spits. "I made it, so I'll deal with it. Stay out of it." He does feel a responsibility for it, and doesn't want anyone to become injured fixing a problem he made, especially someone who's already taken hits (who's already been 'cleaning up his mess' and isn't that a horrifying revelation), but his paler face belies the fact that this is also just a terrifying option. It's like if Ventus had declared he was going to break one of Vanitas's bones.
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"And I'm not dead.' He tacks on, none of his inner turmoil showing on his face. Nope he's gonna keep looking mad because he Is Mad.
He leans forward to squint at Vanitas's rebuttal. Why did he look so frightened. "You don't actually care about it, do you? Like its your kid or something?" Its a valid question ok? Ventus has zero idea of how Unversed work. "Is that why you're so bad at fighting them? I don't think your little absorption trick will work and I can kill it you know."
he's not ready to be a father
He kind of wasn't.If Vanitas had been drinking, there would have been a spit-take. As it is there's the almost audible sound of his brain shutting down and having to boot back up again. "Wh- no. They're just..." Unversed. He hasn't thought about it in any greater detail - that term encompasses all of it. "Bits of me. My emotions. That run around. Ew."
His eyes narrow as he draws himself up. "What, you think I can't handle it?" He can't, but the problem with not entertaining thoughts so you don't make little monster-animals is that you well, don't think about them. "I don't care if you can kill it, it's mine." At least if he does it himself, he can brace himself. He doesn't want to be wracked with pain from nowhere without warning anymore. Not so soon after it stopped. He already couldn't hold it in the first time.
Outside and behind, there's the sound of what might be wingbeats, and then the sound of what is definitely something heavy landing on the roof, sending old ash and dust drifting down from the rafters. It can't see or hear or access them, with the old house standing up determinedly well to it's assaults, but it can sense them and their argument, and there's loud scraping against the tiles and another shriek of frustration.
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"Ew." He repeats before prodding a little for a reaction. "If they're little bits of you thats still kind of like a kid though." Now he's just kind of being mean.
"You weren't very good at fighting them before." He pushes back, leaning away a little from Vanitas's outbursting and narrowing his eyes. "I'm just saying. You can't just say its yours and then not kill it."
He's not even really thinking about the people in this world (other people is a very forign concept, groups of them even more so). It's just obvious to him that if an Unversed exists, it has to go. He starts when the Unversed shrieks again, jabbing his finger upwards as if to say "see!"
"If you want to help, fine. But I'm not going to just sit here and let that thing dig us out."
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Vanitas is unfazed by Ventus's continued needling, able to return fire with his footing regained. "Oh, so you have kids every time you cut your hair? If you ever do." It doesn't even look like you wash it, Ventus. Gross. Vanitas's hair has Sora's silky fluffiness rather than his canon grease-spikes thanks to Aqua's stamp of the concept of baths and thirty minute long showers that use up all the hot water - that last one is his own spin on it.
Vanitas looks up sharply, eyes widening, as the thing lands on the roof - dust from the rafters lands on them and he scrubs at them with a hand and an 'argh!', before turning his slightly watery glare on Ventus. Stop saying he's bad at this (even if that's an objective fact).
"You're the one who's going to be helping me", Vanitas says, jabbing with his own finger, which is the closest he can make to a concession here. The two are equally stubborn because that's apparently a neutral trait, but Vanitas has had to at least learn some conflict resolution skills, even if a lot of the time it's 'pretend I'm bored anyway/meant to do that'.
"Do you even have a plan?" Way to subtley disguise digging as an insult, Vanitas. But he would like to know what Ventus is going to do before he does it. His goal has shifted to 'get the killing blow'.