#vincent vc: pretty little whatever your are

[mysticdeath]

🍺 + idk cami kinda wants to know what vincent thinks of her 👉 👈

his glass is nearly empty — much like his resolve. or was it half - full? who could tell anymore? rousseau's lights shimmer above as cami's question floated toward him, soft as moonlight but heavy as sin. it was the kind of question he'd typically avoid. the kind that sent him running straight for the hills without so much as a single look back, but the amber liquid inside his glass had turned his mind into a hurricane of strange clarity. ah, camille. bright, fierce cami : radiant as the moon but far too kind, what did he think of her?

vincent blinks, vision swimming as he does his best to focus on the blur of blonde. "cami," a name slurred as his lips curling into a lopsided grin, eyes glassy with truth and whiskey. "you're … you're too good for all this madness. too pure. a damn daisy in a swamp full of … crocodiles." he laughed, then hiccuped, immediately solemn. "but there ain't nobody in their right mind who don't like daisies." in the haze, he realized— truth glowing like fireflies in the dark —that she was the one good thing left in this broken world.

| | | | 🩸 — 🍺 + a ? for drunk answers, accepting.