RPGThe Fallen Vincent
Not all demons are devils, and vice versa.
a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by RolePlayGateway
Last seen at: Gambit's Bar
This poor destitute soul appears to be an abandoned character, but their creator chose not to give them up for adoption. They now roam their universe with no true purpose. How terribly depressing...
Groups
Description
Vincent stands tall and very white. His skin is smooth and firm and pale, and his hair blends too easily with it, a stylish platinum blond. His nose is straight and masculine, but not too bold. His brows are sculpted and expressive, but not too thick or too thin. His eyes are high and calm and the most striking and sharpest of blue. His smile can woo mobs and rile peace marches. However, all of these details are merely small pieces of the image he paints. It's Vincent's stride which draws the eye. It's Vincent's smooth, confident body language and low, promising voice which makes saints into sinners. There's an air about him which grips the heart and warns the mind. He is too good to be true, and the look is quite literally impossible to replicate. (It's why I have no drawings of him!)
Personality
This devil is one of many, and so he is both sure of himself and also well aware of his limits. His short stints on earth are absolutely relished, and so he is sure to live life to its fullest when given the chance. He loves to surprise and enchant, and his favorite things about Earth are fine foods and sex--both things which the afterlife really seems to lack.
History
Long after Lucifer's original fall, angels continued to limit their interaction with Man depending on the wishes and whims of their Creator. Vincent had been watching this species for so long that it was difficult not to interact with them. When he was sent once again to search the lands for peoples which had strayed from the flock, he became completely enamored with a proud and contented young woman in South America. She was part of one of many civilizations which had cultivated other deities and grown very accustomed to an existence more attached to the life around them and to natural beauty. Her skin was darker for her clime, her eyes were high and her cheeks were curved. Vincent loved her instantly, and made himself known to her in the most intimate of ways.
Hell was very quick to receive him.
The Fallen Vincent's Story
- 27 • Page 1 of 2 • 1, 2
The Fallen Vincent had a certain revulsion for doors and sidewalks and roadways and... any place that had a very specific purpose for very specific directions and very obvious placement. He much preferred to simply be, where ever that happened to be. And so, when one delightfully small and shapely little thing came so easily distracted, Vincent simply... was. He was, there upon a chair with ample space between himself and the long, polished counter. He had all but draped himself in it, arms upon the arm rests, one knee crossed over the other, a glossy black shoe on the floor while the other hovered above. His head was high and his smile was cool and constant. There she is. Isn't she fetching? A little simple, perhaps, but oh so fetching. His suit followed the lines and angles and curves of his body, perfectly tailored and so dark on his white skin and below such a fair crop of hair. He only had eyes for one, tonight, and her eyes were everywhere else. For now, he liked it that way.
The Fallen Vincent was unhealthily obsessed with every little thing she did. The way she fussed for her phone and then finally got it in her hand. The way she was not quite flustered enough by the sight of it. The way she could not ignore the sudden discomfort in this otherwise lively place. And oh, most importantly, he loved that she never quite realized how it was all so strange. But then, dreams were only unusual once the dreamer woke. Oh! And she nearly looked at him! And for it, he nearly shivered. There weren't really any steps from his chair to the bar. He came leaning near Jaime's shoulder as though it was his place to perch and he had always been there, duh. He breathed. Just.. breathed. Breathed her in. Remembered her. Each time, it was just reliving a wondrous memory.
"Always good to see you..."
The Fallen Vincent all but shivered again, turning his head so slowly. The tip of his nose did not quite brush Jaime's hair, but he would die all over again for that texture on his skin. Creep. "You most certainly do. Don't you? You should." She did. But dream-memories were different sorts of memories. "You're even lovelier than I recall. May I have a seat?" Because he was nearly perched on a stool already, that smile so sweet and so unwelcome. He was far too close.
The Fallen Vincent lingered in that awkward space until the light finally came into her miserable face. Oh-ho, you remember me. And you know me in ways you'd much rather forget. "I somehow doubt that..." Where on earth would she go? Switching dreams all by your lonesome? Not hardly. He sat without her permission. He'd done a great deal to her without her permission already. Why stop there? "Have you missed me?" His suit shifted, especially for the little tug he gave his jacket once his weight settled. The fingers that raised to toy with a pale cuff, as though he could possibly have needed to fix it. "This is our sixth meeting. Will you ever let me wake with you? I promise, you'll feel marvelous."
"Of course you are." And he wore a ridiculously pleased smile when he said it. Clever girl, you know where you are in as much as you know that this is merely a vision. In fact, the creature at her side was the most real thing about the entire experience. "Don't think on it too hard." Or you're sure to wake. "It's a bit busier than I expected. Feeling a little lonely, of late? There's no reason for that..." But he'd surely scare her away if he saw her any place but here. The fingers that skimmed her chin and jaw urged her eyes to raise to him. Lordy, he was still smiling. Was he nude? No, surely he was dressed. This was her dream and she certainly wanted him dressed. His suit was still very real. "There. Now. Have you missed me?"
"...Good." The devil's touch drifted away as though he was not particularly affected by gravity. Now his nearness was perhaps less uninvited, and so he still had not yet fixed it. His lean was long and patient, an elbow on the counter with his hand in the air, and the other forearm crossed before himself, the wrist draped over the edge of the bar's glossy top. "And I have missed you. Oh, very much so. I think of you constantly. Do you think of me when you're awake?" He was so eager to know! think of it, Vincent! Remembering your voice and your face and your touch while she's working and driving and clipping coupons. "I watch you, you know. Of course you know."
The Fallen Vincent fought every one of his most natural instincts. Draw her to you! Close her up and taste her and promise her the world! For as strong as his sense of control was at the moment, Jaime shattered that with the barest touch. His knuckles felt warm and numb for her grazing finger pads. Yes. YES. While Vincent's features had remained calm and confident all this while, suddenly his eyes were wide and so serious, and his palm went wide and tense upon the bar. "Excuse me." As though it really mattered. The bartender was only as real as his darling's dream. "A last fill, if you'd be so kind." No matter how smooth the voice, his face was fierce. She had sparked him. The moment her glass was full and she had had her fill of it, Vincent lifted her hand in his own and all but danced her to the door. "Come, darling. ...It's nearly morning, and we have so much catching up to do." In your bed. In your sleep.
baaarfff
The Fallen Vincent stood tall and so confident, just within the sturdy doorway. it had not opened, nor had it closed. But, Vincent had never been very comfortable with using doors. His suit layered his youthful shape quite well, smooth black lapels framing a deep red shirt a rather dashing, old fashioned bow tie. Oh, he loved the things. His hair nearly managed to match the pallid tone of his skin, flawless as it were, and swept back in timeless style. The ring on his index finger looked heavy, a round red gem at its center. The devil's smile was small and so charming, flashing and lingering as he raised his hands midway to turn a glittering cuff link.
Scotch, darling, I'm feeling homely. It was a joke. Creatures like this could not be boring. No matter how far, the 'tender was sure to hear him, and he was sure to have a glass in his long, gloved fingers in no time a'toll.
The Fallen Vincent tipped the stout glass to his lips, sliding his eyes 'round the room and gliding like a magnet along the floors. Away from the hired killer and his price tags, away from the homosexuals and their obviousness, and away from the space travelers and their scheming. None of that, thank you. A hand fit comfortably in his pocket while he glanced to the clock to the left of the bar. All in good time...
The Fallen Vincent rolled those cool blues from the awkward activity across the room to the woman in the doorway. Why, she was so small! Tiny, like the people of an older time. His glass tipped in his turning wrist, the dim lighting catching all of his most important part: the cuff links, the ring, and his smile. Oh, he probably made the wrong kinds of bargains.
(No, I'm not surprised. This is a fantasy land. Yes. You said Endoskeleton. Which is what we all have... So I assume you're just differentiating between his two types?)
The Fallen Vincent raised one brow just so. Such a large assortment of creatures here. So much so, in fact, that there was nothing interesting about it anymore. Didn't these species have homelands to populate? The world certainly has changed, old man. But as he watched, he drew a delicate looking watch from just inside his jacket, thumbing it open with a turn of his wrist. As he thought. The clock in this place doesn't at all fit in line with the time he was used to. God damn the otherworldly jetlag he'd suffer tomorrow. "What's a man need to do for a little guidance?" She should have been here by now!
The Fallen Vincent snapped the pocket watch closed, dragging his thumb therapeutically over its intricate gold edging before slipping it into his pocke-... the antique item clattered to the polished floor and slid right across, knocking into a foot or two before settling near a table. Instantly, his hand thumped to his own chest as though the watch had fallen through a hole in his very ribcage. No no no! She needed to be here. She had to be his so that he could solidify his place in this, yet another world. Without her, he struggled even to keep himself whole--clothing and all. "...Bloody unbelievable."
The Fallen Vincent 's steps were smooth but growing impatient, and at last the confident smile snapped right off of his face. To think. Kneeling! He ducked at the edge of that table to pluck the watch and its chain from the floor. ..Ri..diculous.
The Fallen Vincent clutched that watch as though it was either a great effort to do so, or it was of unreal important. Just.. slide it right into that pocket once more, old boy. It's alright. And this while he had kept his glass in the air. It was imperative that he not lose a drop of it, not when he was growing so frustrated. oh, not that it showed. But once he was standing again, he could sip and-.. ah, ah, keep a good grip on your scotch, Vincent! Where was she!
The Fallen Vincent knew too well that it couldn't last. She would not come, and so he could not complete the host. The body would not stay. Before he could watch the door, the glass dropped to the floor and shattered upon impact. He was gone.
The Fallen Vincent moved like a living, breathing dream into the quieted building. His suit, finely tailored and sharply designed, bore hardly a single line or crease even as it shifted on his gliding frame. She had promised him a delightful surprise, and so he wore a calm, unbreakable smile. From an inner coat pocket he drew a familiar golden watch, etched in delicate markings. Any moment now... His hair was swept back along his skull and his jaw extended confidently. For all his worldly patience, here he was almost incapable of sitting. Was he... pacing?
- 27 • Page 1 of 2 • 1, 2
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