You wouldn't steal a boy

[vapidus]

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.

Comments

he'd lose his membership

[vapidus]

"Once upon a time, two years ago," Vanitas serves back. "Xehanort's apprentice - I guess that's you - died in a training accident, and what was left went to live with someone else. That's what I know." He's not going to tell Ventus about the Land of Departure, with a defensiveness wrapped around the idea of it. Ventus isn't getting that much. Some 'training accident'. From what Ventus says, and from Ventus's continued existence alone, someone has been telling lies.

"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.

[vacantis]

"My fault?" Ventus says in what is almost a sputter. He narrows his eyes, replaying through the events again. The unversed hadn't shown up right until after Vanitas had started convulsing, which was about around when Ventus and himself had been talking and also when Ventus had....attacked Vanitas. In his conflicting rage he doesn't think he feels that poorly about it, he'd certainly do it again, and yet even so a bit of unfamilar guilt coils itself in his stomach. It's not like Ventus has ever attacked another person before. He just did it like he would an unversed he couldn't stand. Which Vanitas was right! So it was fine. It's not like there was a huge difference between attacking people and unversed, if they were going to hurt you. Except the talking part.

"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

[vapidus]

"Obviously," Vanitas says, since it handily acts as a reply to both. "I haven't made any at all in the past month," he elaborates on the first. There's a river of pride running through the sentence as he tips his head back. Like a workplace sign that counts the days since last injury - if Vanitas resented the sign being hung up there at all. "So clearly it's you." You and your dispensing of flashbacks. He was handling it until that tipped him over the edge. 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.

[vacantis]

"Your emotions?" Ventus tilts his head a little, looking confused. Huh? He just kind of assumed they were Wayward Bits of darkness. He also didn't really take the time to think about the fact that Vanitas has emotions. It shouldn't be suprising, and yet he feels a little put off by this brazen admission.

"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."

[vapidus]

He has emotions every day of his life, Ventus! Ninety per cent of the time they stay in him, too. But they are also wayward bits of darkness when they don't.

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'.