#Ⓥ : verse: av ( vincent )

[nazorneku]

WEISS ( @endweapon ) INQUIRED OF VINCENT: The situation is tense and weapons are pointed; the party looks into the muzzle of the gun the mysterious man from the coffin keeps primed at them. Only Weiss' gaze is drawn to elsewhere, metallic blues with their hazel touch rest on the lid of the coffin on the ground. The three-headed hound of hell adorning it stood out, perhaps a warning they should've heeded before disrupting this stranger's 'slumber'. In spite of the threat, Weiss steps forward with no weapon drawn, shifting a sharpened set of eyes on their armed new friend (enemy?). "You had us think they buried a man alive, so being the bleeding hearts they are, they checked up on you. That's all. You're not who we're here for. There's bigger nightmares around than the one you were having."

Forcibly awakened anew, he found self surrounded by unfamiliar people, an inspecting gaze still slightly veiled with somnolence trailed over intruders dressed casually, which indicated at apparent lack of allegiance to ShinRa; the first conclusion of outlaws or scavengers nudged itself logically and instantaneously the gloved hand pointed a gun at the others. As an ex-Turk, Vincent was proficient at interpreting other people expressions, especially displayed so vividly, and the apprehension and wariness were etched into the countenance of almost every one of them, save for one man, who opted to step forward and initiate a conversation. The mixture of thoughts and emotions was comprehensible, as a man slumbering in a coffin was not frequent to stumble upon, and the secret he harbored 'bout own identity would alienate him even further.

The gunman would disregard the attempt to coerce him to socialize, if not for just one word that tightly gripped his mind upon escaping the other man's mouth. Nightmares. For the majority the concept of immortality was beyond their grasp; to be frank, he did not revel in own state, deeming it as a curse and retribution for past sins. When the silver-haired extended a gesture of mediation, those words of consolation hit the impenetrable wall of solid indifference. "What do you know 'bout my nightmares?" Albeit curt was his response, there was no inherent enmity towards the other, but immense distaste towards self for various reasons and any empathy tended to be disregarded. ‘We all should pay for our sins.’

The uneasiness between the two was almost palpable, yet the man clad in crimson did not concern self with such triviality, as their conversation compelled to reminisce 'bout days and weeks cloaked in fog with fleeting frames of abrupt and vague memories; nevertheless, one fact remained distinct and comprehensible, spoken with a cold tone, leaking apparent disdain towards the man that once inhabited it. "This mansion was abandoned for many years, you will find no one here." To the exclusion of ghosts of the past, which haunted not the empty and dilapidated building, but the mind of the only living being that still dwelled within. Although could that man still be alive? He once died amidst those halls.

And the circumstances of his survival endangered those around, if it would come to pass for Chaos to quell his will and claim the reins, bringing forth the ultimate destruction of the very life itself. Carmine eyes narrowed at the thought and a scarcely audible exhalation escaped through slightly parted lips, the clawed hand entered the field of his vision, observed by an absorbed and distant glance, the presence of another entity within the gunman would not be disclosed to anyone and events of the past would remain within the walls of that old manor, as knowledge of that 'weapon' would bring only destruction and death, in despite of overwhelming potency the beast possessed. There was no guarantee it would aid once let off the leash...

[nazorneku]

Vivid crimson darkened under the provided response, which the gunman did not foresee to receive as he merely wondered audibly, scornfully, lids partially concealed the glowing gaze, as the man anew succumbed to whist rumination. The stillness of his awake image was merely an illusion he was willing to maintain, agonizing memories of the past did not abandon even his waking mind. The voice of another tugged upon his hearing, compelling to shift own regard back at the bizarre group of people, and a rather brazen remark of the silver-haired begat a scarcely audible chuckle, the thin line of lips reluctantly twitched into an attempt to bend its habitual form into a smile. Albeit still prevalent hesitation to cooperate with invaders, Vincent opted to comply and the gun returned to its holster.

Chest heaved leisurely under the leather garments, as the man contemplated those words, the reason for his awakening. "Sephiroth." Akin to an echo, the name slipped in between slightly parted lips, as if to reacquaint self with the person carrying it, to reenact the scenes of bygone days he could not escape the confinement of. "Her son." With a specific accentuation a couple of other words followed, a distinct was alteration in his expression, as innumerable thoughts occupied his mind, prior to a final verdict was decided and lips newly were tightly sealed. He found self unable to disclose any relevant information 'bout the person in question, nor he retained an inclination to; nevertheless, it appeared apparent that the man was withholding vital knowledge.

Upon settling with a decision, Vincent's stance transformed and obtained previously perceived impenetrable defensive form; that man, the mansion and its sole guardian were in possession of numerous grave and threatening secrets, to reveal them equalled to reliving those days. And the gunman did not dare to let the demons of the past loose, taking into consideration that one was still watching attentively from the depths of his subconsciousness with golden eyes almost unblinking, transfixed by the silver-haired. "Still does not explain why you disturbed my slumber. I do not bar your path." Saturated with discontent, a husky tone eventually broke the prolonged silence, indicating that the group could proceed with the pursuit of Sephiroth without any concern of interruption from him. "You should leave." As the final declaration was vocalized, he stepped in the direction of the coffin, intending to proceed own slumber of attornment, wishing to never be disturbed again.

𝐀𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬. Was that the message? A voice from behind whispers his name both sharp and with concern, but Weiss raises a palm towards them. Don't worry, I got this. No matter what the mist of secrecy veiled here or what terrors this man guarded in his lonesome, he would cleave straight through them for his objective. Always has. Keen eyes set no longer on the weapon primed for a trigger situation but fully on the stranger perceiving him as a threat. "That you were tossing and turning about them. You're quieter now than in your sleep." His answer is curt, even-toned and despite the bite, still factual.

The next answer was not his, but Cloud's. Who they sought was far more personal to him, so it's a given. Few things could earn Weiss' respect but vengeance was one of them. "We're looking for a man called Sephiroth. Five years ago, he found records in this place about Jenova that drove him insane. He's here again, waiting for us." Some of them nod in affirmation. Weiss did not. The demonic gaze laying on him spills out some of the secrets which their guardian is so adamant about protecting. He cannot recall where, but he knows he's seen them before, focused on him like nothing else in the world existed. Their reds weave a story of agony, death and robbed humanity and a life forfeited too soon to Shinra's darkness. That's where his memory cuts short and the familiarity ends. He's never known or met this man. Only the demon he harbors. Would it show itself before him?

"He's telling the truth. Now put your gun down or I'll draw mine. Your choice." Cooperation would be the easier path; simply let them go or tell them more. But there was an itch in his finger, and his confidence tipped over into arrogance that showed in the lopsided smirk forming. The more difficult path was welcome too.