He ate in intent silence, focused on little but the task before him. Like everything else, eating was for him a task, something which he did because it kept his body alive, functioning, and in excellent condition. He exercised for the same reasons, and took no joy in any of it. The taste of food, he scarcely noted, though it had come to mind that what he ate now was more palatable than what heād had before. The coffee had been foreign to him the first time sheād placed it in front of him, but like everything else, he simply accepted that she was not endeavoring to kill him. That in itself had been hard enough, and for several days, heād refused to eat or drink anything, too wary of poisons and drugs to force himself through the motions of consumption. He might know nothing of flowers, but he knew that plants could be used to make toxin.
The walk to this unknown ally of Chandraās was mostly silent, but he didnāt even take notice. His life was mostly silent, and he didnāt mind that. He did spend a great deal of time observing his surroundings, though. It was something he was unable to stop doing any longer- constantly assessing the world about himself for signs of danger. He could climb atop the roofs from there, escape that way if he was cornered. This and that mundane household object would make for good weapons, smart enemies would ambush from behind that fence or from out of that shadowed alley. His shoulders periodically tensed, the tightening of his muscles invisible under the long, dark coat he wore from shoulder to mid-calf, collar turned up against the slight chill in the breeze. He catalogued and memorized everything he could, which was quite a lot.
Even so, he didnāt miss the spirit of the place, either, the dirty children and the threadbare clothing of their mothers and fathers. The world-weariness in the teenaged girl standing at the corner, regarding everything around her with dull suspicion. She forced a smile when she caught him observing, but he shook his head minutely and looked away, leaving her shoulders to slump and her form to sag against the faƧade of the nearest building once again. It smelled of smog and apathy, but even this place was better than the one heād grown up in. Everyone here looked as though they at least slept under a roof every night, but that wasnāt enough. The idea that anyone could look at this and see that the world was as it should be prickled beneath his skin, prodding him to a slow-burning anger that smoldered only intermittently in his eyes, when he forgot to hide it.
They reached a small storefront, and Chandra led the way through, greeting the proprietor with a smile. She bade him remember his āmanners,ā and he supposed there was no harm in it. Why it was that a few mere words could put people at ease he did not adequately comprehend, but she had assured him it was often enough. As it happened, however, this man cut to the chase, drawing Vincentās attention from the shelves full of childrenās toys and back down to him. Red eyes and hair, more slender than muscled, probably armed with something, but overall, not a fighter. A present threat, but not a particularly-egregious one. That was fine; Vincent knew well that it could be the innocent-looking ones that moved most effectively beneath notice.
His potential reply was interrupted when he caught the sound of footsteps headed for the door in. He removed himself from the direct path of the newcomer before she even arrived; there was a potential for stealth in that quiet tread that was not presently being utilized.
Indeed, when a young woman swept into the room, casually greeting the dollmaker but cutting herself off when she noticed the strangers, his eyes locked onto her presence immediately, and he tensed just slightly, tracking her movements unerringly. This woman was nothing like her friend. There was something in her demeanor and the way she moved that immediately alerted his instincts. Threat. At least if he wasnāt careful. There were times when Vincent was more wary, prowling animal than man, and such could often be the case when he recognized danger. Not so much to himself- he was quite confident in his abilities- but in general. It was the acknowledgement that he was now in what appeared to be another predatorās territory. He found himself overcome with the strange desire to fight her, though not to the death- just to see how good she was- if the skill lived up to the aura, so to speak. It was not an urge he had often, and that was more than enough to make him both wary and curious on its own.
She settled at the desk, apparently relaxed, though he wasnāt fooled. He did manage, however, to return to himself, and contemplated his words for a moment longer. āChandra is here because I asked her to bring me,ā he answered truthfully, still carefully toneless. āMy name is Vincent. I seek allies forā¦ a dangerous enterprise.ā He kept his words intentionally vague. He wasnāt going to reveal more than he needed to until he knew this man was interested, and perhaps until the woman was gone.
Of course, at that moment, the door burst open and a man shoved his way inside, a girl perhaps a few years his junior in his arms. If heād been a normal person with a normal understanding of such things, Vincent probably would have thought them lovers. As it was, he knew of sex but not of love, and nothing about the situation seemed to suggest that. He was more than a little irritated at the intrusion, but he supposed this was a public location and this Smoke must have had acquaintances. He chose to remain silent, scanning them both over without any indication whatsoever of his feelings on the subject. The man was clearly a warrior, though he did not present with the same predatory air as the green-haired woman did. The girl was no fighter at all, and he gathered from the manās words that she was for some reason his charge.
Whatever was to happen, he would let it happen before he could continue further, and Vincent slipped his hands into the pockets of his coat. He was armed, but the pistol was not in his coat pockets. He doubted heād need to fight anybody, but he was always prepared to do so. His fists were simply more than adequate.
They always had been.
The walk to this unknown ally of Chandraās was mostly silent, but he didnāt even take notice. His life was mostly silent, and he didnāt mind that. He did spend a great deal of time observing his surroundings, though. It was something he was unable to stop doing any longer- constantly assessing the world about himself for signs of danger. He could climb atop the roofs from there, escape that way if he was cornered. This and that mundane household object would make for good weapons, smart enemies would ambush from behind that fence or from out of that shadowed alley. His shoulders periodically tensed, the tightening of his muscles invisible under the long, dark coat he wore from shoulder to mid-calf, collar turned up against the slight chill in the breeze. He catalogued and memorized everything he could, which was quite a lot.
Even so, he didnāt miss the spirit of the place, either, the dirty children and the threadbare clothing of their mothers and fathers. The world-weariness in the teenaged girl standing at the corner, regarding everything around her with dull suspicion. She forced a smile when she caught him observing, but he shook his head minutely and looked away, leaving her shoulders to slump and her form to sag against the faƧade of the nearest building once again. It smelled of smog and apathy, but even this place was better than the one heād grown up in. Everyone here looked as though they at least slept under a roof every night, but that wasnāt enough. The idea that anyone could look at this and see that the world was as it should be prickled beneath his skin, prodding him to a slow-burning anger that smoldered only intermittently in his eyes, when he forgot to hide it.
They reached a small storefront, and Chandra led the way through, greeting the proprietor with a smile. She bade him remember his āmanners,ā and he supposed there was no harm in it. Why it was that a few mere words could put people at ease he did not adequately comprehend, but she had assured him it was often enough. As it happened, however, this man cut to the chase, drawing Vincentās attention from the shelves full of childrenās toys and back down to him. Red eyes and hair, more slender than muscled, probably armed with something, but overall, not a fighter. A present threat, but not a particularly-egregious one. That was fine; Vincent knew well that it could be the innocent-looking ones that moved most effectively beneath notice.
His potential reply was interrupted when he caught the sound of footsteps headed for the door in. He removed himself from the direct path of the newcomer before she even arrived; there was a potential for stealth in that quiet tread that was not presently being utilized.
Indeed, when a young woman swept into the room, casually greeting the dollmaker but cutting herself off when she noticed the strangers, his eyes locked onto her presence immediately, and he tensed just slightly, tracking her movements unerringly. This woman was nothing like her friend. There was something in her demeanor and the way she moved that immediately alerted his instincts. Threat. At least if he wasnāt careful. There were times when Vincent was more wary, prowling animal than man, and such could often be the case when he recognized danger. Not so much to himself- he was quite confident in his abilities- but in general. It was the acknowledgement that he was now in what appeared to be another predatorās territory. He found himself overcome with the strange desire to fight her, though not to the death- just to see how good she was- if the skill lived up to the aura, so to speak. It was not an urge he had often, and that was more than enough to make him both wary and curious on its own.
She settled at the desk, apparently relaxed, though he wasnāt fooled. He did manage, however, to return to himself, and contemplated his words for a moment longer. āChandra is here because I asked her to bring me,ā he answered truthfully, still carefully toneless. āMy name is Vincent. I seek allies forā¦ a dangerous enterprise.ā He kept his words intentionally vague. He wasnāt going to reveal more than he needed to until he knew this man was interested, and perhaps until the woman was gone.
Of course, at that moment, the door burst open and a man shoved his way inside, a girl perhaps a few years his junior in his arms. If heād been a normal person with a normal understanding of such things, Vincent probably would have thought them lovers. As it was, he knew of sex but not of love, and nothing about the situation seemed to suggest that. He was more than a little irritated at the intrusion, but he supposed this was a public location and this Smoke must have had acquaintances. He chose to remain silent, scanning them both over without any indication whatsoever of his feelings on the subject. The man was clearly a warrior, though he did not present with the same predatory air as the green-haired woman did. The girl was no fighter at all, and he gathered from the manās words that she was for some reason his charge.
Whatever was to happen, he would let it happen before he could continue further, and Vincent slipped his hands into the pockets of his coat. He was armed, but the pistol was not in his coat pockets. He doubted heād need to fight anybody, but he was always prepared to do so. His fists were simply more than adequate.
They always had been.