(no subject)

[missdredemption.livejournal.com]

Who: Vincent Valentine and OPEN -thread closed/complete-
What: People watching...for now
Where: A bar at the crossroads of the worlds
When: Late Afternoon/Early Evening
Rating: PG

The bar was dimly lit and smoky. The tables and chairs were sturdy and didn’t match; they were purchased or made for durability, not aesthetics. The bar was made of heavy ironwood and its surface was pitted and scarred from multiple traumas – be they from beer bottles, knives or heads. The clientele was not much better off than the beaten-up furniture. Most had had trouble with some sort of authority at some point in their lives, and were violent and unpredictable. This was not a bar where you met up with friends or had a social hour. This was a place where dark deals were made, debts were collected and lives were ended, either bought or sold, by a blade to the back or a bullet to the head.

The shadows here were deep and they were dark, guarding their secrets well. In the deepest, darkest corner of the bar sat a monster. They couldn’t see it, but they knew it was there when they felt the eyes on them when they sat down. If a man were perceptive or quick enough to look at the right moment in the rasping flick of a cigarette lighter or the quick flash of a bumped light, he would catch the glint of gold or the glow of deep carmine, and he would see the beautiful creature before it disappeared again into the dark to which is was most comfortable. In the midst of the dregs and twisted remnants of humanity the creature has found a home of sorts. It shall sit in its corner and continue to watch the ebb and flow of ruined lives around it, and contemplate its place in the inglorious mess called life.

He had an apartment. It was a small one-room box with a un-slept-in bed and no kitchen. He did not have to eat. To keep himself busy, Vincent Valentine took random jobs, and the bounties that no one else wanted. He didn’t need the money, but he needed the activity. He was to meet his contact here and receive the stats on his next job; but an hour later found him irritated, and slowly scratching a divot out of the tabletop he was sitting at with one of the claws on his gauntlet. He had been stood up, and that tended to piss him off. He could have left, but something told him to stay. So he sat and watched those around him, vermilion eyes flicking over every face and body posture in the place, assessing and missing nothing. He kept one eye on the door to see who next walked through, and the other on the heavy caliber weapon of the rough-looking piece of work that sat nearest him at a table that wobbled, and kept Cerberus un-strapped and ready for use. His body was deceptively relaxed and ready for anything.