Vincent has been moved, and this blog will be archived. He’s here, now. if you’d still like to interact with him, follow me there. I need a new start, and this is the best way.
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Vincent has been moved, and this blog will be archived. He’s here, now. if you’d still like to interact with him, follow me there. I need a new start, and this is the best way.
i really need to do more stuff over here, so like this for a starter.
❛ you've got that face. ❜ fingers twine around the stem of the wine glass on the counter-top, raising it to his lips as azure irises catch the disapproving frown. it doesn't take observation to see it ; he's seen it before, she wears it like iron, frequently and with intent - her stubborn resolve was worse than his own. just a few drinks, he reasons, mentally justifying the nearly emptied bottle of wine sitting in front of him. the human blood was doing a number on his nerves; after a few hours, the itch was returning & crawling like ants beneath his skin.
their problems were mounting & he needed to hold it together for riley’s sake. ❛ look, i’ve only had like one bottle of wine. barely enough to catch a buzz, let alone fall off the wagon. okay, ---- technically I fell off the wagon but it only counts if you get drunk, right? ❜
Even cautious optimism is a stretch for the crossroads demon these days, and while his relief is palpable when Vincent confirms that the makeshift–albeit somewhat macabre–treatment plan seems to have the intended effect, he is far from convinced that the solution is foolproof. If the events of the frankly harrowing past year has taught him anything, it is that their luck isn’t that reliable. One step forward, two steps back, and the direction this new development will take them has yet to be determined.
Malcolm lets his borrowed gaze fall to their hands, wondering silently to himself if the dried flecks of crimson under Vincent’s fingernails are paint or blood. One can never be too certain with demons, especially unhinged ones. His momentary smile fades as quickly as it had come, replaced with the usual mask of apathy that has become his default expression.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” the demon chides his lover gently. “We don’t know how long this’ll last. We don’t know if it might spur off side-effects. We don’t know if you’ll need higher dosages over time…” He shakes his head, reluctant to crush Vince’s hope but needing to ground them both in the logistical side of things. “I’m not comfortable throwin’ caution t’ the wind until we’ve seen some consistency in these results, long term. I’m sorry Vince–it’s just not worth the risk.”
“ I know, ” sullen realization slips over the momentary happiness, dark gaze dropping away from that of his lover, something deep and disturbing taking root in the recesses of his blackened soul. an unknown ---- foreign emotion. bitterness swelled by the elixir weaving webs of lies in his blood stream. this cure would be a tether as well as a release, something to wrap invisible chains around his ankles, working so long as he used it – but the uncertainty hinging upon the unknown was absolutely terrifying. “but we've no other options, Malcolm. i can't be trusted without it.and the last thing I want is to be the cause of our discovery because I happened to have an episode. ”
fingers curl delicately with the others, expression stoic as the reality of their disparage sunk in. what warmth fills him from the human blood is faux ; something to shroud the fear settling in his bones. lips tug into a faint grin, reminiscent and ghosted with a dwindling hope.“ I could never live with myself if I endangered you, or Pasha. it won't.... keep it away, but it'll help. slow it down, at least.manageable. like an anti-psychotic. except harder to find. and more costly. ” with Lucius dogging after them – they were on borrowed time & each passing day, it slid a little further away from them.
She feels him melt into the kiss, as easily plied as the humans she’s spent two millennia manipulating with such wiles. It’s different, though, with Vincent. The arms that loop around her waist are welcomed there; the scent of him that lingers on her long after their trysts doesn’t turn her stomach. Such pleasures are not without their price. No one can know what they do in the seclusion of her office; under guise of business and duty to Hell. Even among demonkind there are certain social constructs that must be observed; and fucking one’s subordinate is hardly deemed acceptable for an officer in Marcella’s position. They are careful–not even Riley or Lucius know, though the crossroads demon suspects that neither of her other lieutenants are without suspicion. This affair is dangerous for them both. Foolish. Worth it.
Marcella smiles against his lips, nipping lightly at his lower one to chastise when his hands rove over the curve of her hips–they’ve only just finished the last round, after all. “–You have no patience, Vincent,” She begins to scold playfully, but her words come to an abrupt halt when the sound of a doorknob turning cuts through the air like a knife. Hurriedly, Marcella pushes the other demon away; painting on an innocent facade as she tries to inconspicuously smooth down her tousled garments. Her lover must have forgotten to lock it; and she shoots him a sharp glance when the door swings open to reveal one of the high court’s cronies. He’s a paper-pusher, but he has the ears of those much further up the hierarchy than Marcella herself and so she must treat him with due courtesy…and hope that he does not question the papers scattered around her desk, the fresh bruises on her neck, or the lipstick smeared over Vincent’s collar. “–That will be all, Lieutenant,” Marcella adds pointedly, for the visitor’s benefit, shooing Vince off like a dog. “Go and check in with Lucius, I’ll send for you both when it’s time to go.” She turns to the new demon, all professional poise and pleasantry, “Do come in, my dear, and tell me why you’re here…I wasn’t expecting you.”
“ it's hard to have patience when I'm in the presence of someone so exquisite. ” teeth graze lips, hands grasping fabric as if one kiss was not nearly enough. addiction forming itself as assuredly as the tainted essence polluting his demonic soul. torn apart by the sudden interruption, Vincent quickly distances himself from Marcella. they can't be caught----- their affair tethered to the sinful desires of a forbidden union of flesh, an abominable act which would land them both back on the racks. anxiety spreads through him like a wildfire, but he hides it well, expression schooled in a study of cool assertion as he tugs his collar back into place and nods to his lover's instructions, “ sure thing, i'll let Lucius know,” he assures her, before quietly slipping around the other demon and disappearing from sight. the young, upstart pries his suspicion with a long, hard glance – gaze gathering the disarrayed papers around the room, as it rises to fix on the crossroads queen. her quotas were impressive, she garnished her reputation in sheer brutality.
“ I have a summons for you, Marcella. ” he elicits her name like a bad omen, voice a raspy hiss as lips curl into the slightest of smile. thin digits hand off an envelope. “ from the elders. they wish to send you topside to procure a rather tricky contract. – you're the best for the job. your.... talents are unequivocal. he's got great, influential importance and he's on the verge of coming into a great deal of power; we need you to tip the scale in our favor, get him to sign over his John Hancock, Hell will take care of the rest. ” one dark brow lifts, bright irises observant.
Geertgen tot Sint Jans - The Man of Sorrows. Detail. 1485 - 1494
“Actually, I asked because I know you and Mal are bein’ hunted. Figured maybe it wasn’t safe for you to venture out because Lucius is lookin’ for you.” Though the fact that Vince was so insistent that it was okay for him to go out only made her more uneasy. Suddenly he wanted to open up his horizons and explore the world around him? Suddenly he wanted to adapt? People didn’t just change like that—agoraphobia didn’t just go away like that.
Time to get to the bottom of this, if only so she knew what was getting into by spending time with Vince. Because his manic mood was concerning and the last thing Pasha wanted to do was be in a situation where her life was in danger, regardless of whether or not Vince meant her any harm.
“But since you mentioned opening your horizons,” she started, not giving him time to reply, “exactly what made you want to do so now?”
there's a twitch in his hand, fingers unconsciously curling in on themselves as she speaks; an erratic flicker of dark irises shifting focus from pasha to the door.
“ Lucius will always be a threat, but at least within the city limits, it's a supernatural mecca. and living in fear, constantly holed up in that house, doesn't really help things, only adds to the stress. ” he hasn't forgotten about Lucius, or the looming possibility that Hell would crash through the safety barrier currently obscuring their signatures ;; the elixir shrouded that rationality, broke boundaries of comfort zones that would have him confined to his studio, in the security of his art, with nothing but the guidance of his brush.
“ i know it must seem odd, an established shut-in suddenly interested in getting out. ”
For all intents and purposes the crossroads demon does not know what he expects–even cautious optimism seems like asking for too much when considering the complex amplitude of Vincent’s condition–and yet he cannot help but pin his hopes upon what is at this point their last resort. Something has got to give, because with Vince’s episodes getting more severe with each passing day they have run out of other options.
“Different?” He echoes, edging closer. Borrowed blue eyes search his lover’s brown ones, looking for some indication as if it would be written there in the variations of his cornea like a neon sign. There is worry, too–this gambit could very well plunge the unhinged demon into an all-out psychotic episode for all they know–but the moments pass and it becomes apparent that the effect is a calming one.
It is working.
“–Vince?” Malcolm’s hand flies up to cover the one on his face, and for the first time since he can even remember a real, genuine smile begins to tug at the corners of his lips. “This’s good…This’s good…” He nods, emphatically even, and breathes a quiet huff of relief, “Yeah, it’s gonna’ make things better. More manageable.” Elation is tempered, however, with the knowledge that this miracle drug comes at a cost–one that he alone will need to shoulder. He pries Vincent’s hand away and rolls up onto his toes to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. “It’s about time somethin’ went our way.”
“ different.” a reassertion, elation colliding with the shock and confusion twisting around in his chest; expression softened by the flood of elixir in his borrowed veins as a chaste kiss was pressed to the corner of his mouth, eyelids fluttering closed to the faint tingle of flesh to flesh contact ( ; remiss of times before the crumble of ruin cracking beneath their feet, before Lucius turned against them & paranoid glances became routine. )
small moments, such as these, afforded them tentative slivers of peace ( ;;; & the tiny fissures of light in the dark bled into oblivion. ) fingers twined with those of his lover's, gaze adorned with a twinkle of joy that hadn't touched it in months. the disease eating away at his mind, slowly eviscerating his sanity, had only been gathering severity in recent months, episodes intensifying into violent out-lashings - this small fix, albeit an expensive one, is a reprieve for the hell which has been raging in his head for years.
“ hopefully, this means one less thing for us to worry about, ” at least, for now – the fear dogging their steps was ceased, dulled by the human blood enhancing their senses; the heaviness of anxiety & doom looming over their lives, a cast off into the backdrop of white noise. “ i know my condition probably isn't curable, but maybe, maybe---- this will put it into submission, and you won’t have to worry anymore. we can take walks. visit the french quarter, together. ”
headcanon that Vincent is the demon who influenced H. H. Holmes to build a hotel filled with traps and passage ways, to lure in tourists, where they were rendered unconscious and dropped down chutes to the basement to be tortured and killed.
Sorry, I haven't been here. I've been in the process of a lot of life changing crap, but I'm gonna try to get to most – if not all of my drafts today. Between being forcibly kicked out of housing ( during finals, no less ) finding a place to live, and financial shit – it's been really hard to find muse on any of my blogs – so activity kind of sporadically ceased. And for that, I'm sorry. Life kind of forced me into an impromptu hiatus. BUT things are finally starting to chill the fuck out, and I'm able to concentrate on writing, so thank you for sticking around with my slow ass.
crossroadcaesar
It wants only to sulk; to sit there alone in the darkness and feel sorry for itself until what is left of it rots away into oblivion–or, more likely, until some rival with a grudge comes along and finishes what the hunters could not. In truth it would be a mercy for Vincent to put the pitiful creature out of its misery, and the demon former known as Marcella knows that the thought must surely have crossed its lover’s mind.
“It’s over,” It slurs again more forcefully; glassy, dead eyes trying to focus in the vague direction of the other demon’s voice. “Why can’t you see that?” The grotesque thing folds in on itself once again, hiding its mutilated face in its hands so that Vincent will not see the moisture it can feel beginning to ooze like human tears down its cheeks. Its grievous wounds are still fresh, and so is the trauma; a body it had called its own for over four centuries defiled and left in ruin, emptiness where it once felt whole now aching like phantom pangs that will haunt the crossroads demon forevermore.
“There is no recovery from this.” It’s muffled voice assures, to eviscerated even to pretend as though it gives a damn. “There is no future for me; for any of us. You three cannot hope to hold the territory for long…You will fail, and you will suffer the consequences. Let it fall on me. I am as good as dead, anyway. If you care as you say you do then spare me the racks and end it quickly, as I would have for you.”
sympathy twines itself cruelly around the demon's borrowed heart, an emotion as foreign & distant as the concept of love. twisted & corrupted, it was a vulnerability his kind often scavenged from as humanity plead themselves, desperate & weakened, to the woes of mortality & strife. they were repulsive, vile — ( ;; FODDER , so easily swayed &turned away from their savior. ) fingers flex in on themselves, curling unconsciously against the meat of his vessel’s palm. dark irises are watchful as they scrape the leftovers of what remained of his lover, the sad, pathetic creature retching in the corner, coiled in on itself as helplessness peeled back the steel armor shielding Marcella's once evocative persona. the proud, aristocratic demon reduced to nothing more than ash.
it would be a mercy. to kill it. to smother the pain &end the traumatized demon's misery. an easy, swift death consumed by the black-hole swirling around in his head-space &succumb to the killer laying dormant beneath his stolen flesh. but he doesn’t. can’t. what stays his hand is the same bound loyalty he’d pledged to her over a century ago – &as reckless & frivolous as the younger demon may be, he isn't one to abandon ties & turn on those to whom he's pledged his command. especially her. for reasons far beyond those even he can conceive.
“ i'm fairly certain Lucius would have my head, if you came to harm upon my hand, ” fingertips brush over a trinket on a nearby shelf, thoughtful. a necklace, once belonging to the formerly Marcella ( ; elegant, with distinct traces of crimson ) . “ & i will not be swallowed by the guilt of taking my own lover’s life when so much of it controls me already. if it weren't for you, i would have assuredly been rack fodder by now. ”
when you're half way through a reply, and your computer restarts for an update, and you lose it all. ((((: nice.
when you say you're gonna watch Netflix & work on drafts, but really you just watch Netflix
me @ me : why am I trash?
The bruised soul spits out some Italian swears. It’s trying to hold on with everything it has. Hold onto it’s humanity. And for what? That’s what Lucius doesn’t get. He barely remembers his time on the racks. He’s since had a peek into his own files, out of nothing more than morbid curiosity. It took him barely six years, demon-time, to crack. That’s nothing compared to the time he’s seen some of these other souls put under their belt. Hell, these days, even the weak ones can make it to a decade.
But when all you have holding you back is pure stubbornness, there’s not a lot left to break through. He’s wondered why it was so easy to crack him, almost disappointed in himself, until he came to the conclusion: why not?
That‘s what he doesn’t understand anymore. What are they holding onto? There’s nothing. Nothing. There’s no reward for holding out. Relief only comes when you give in to it.
His victim is strung up with it’s arms splayed out on a long bar and Lucius cuts down the chains keeping it up. The soul falls with a strange bodily sound as it thumps, face first, on the ground. Not that it can do much–chains still bind it. Lucius crouches down in front of it and adjusts as he wants. The floor is grated–helps to collect the blood that seeps down and pulls into…wherever. He never bothered to ask how hell’s sewage system works (what is below the pit and all).
All it takes are a couple swift clicks. Lucius adjusts the soul’s chains so it’s wrists and ankles are bound to the grates beneath it. Essentially, the doomed soul can move a little more. As long as it stays on its hands and knees.
And then–really, the comedian should find this funny–Lucius leaves the room. Only for a second. When he comes back, it’s with a bucket, filled part of the way with water. He sets it down in front of the thing and then steps back. When the soul tries to raise it’s head, Lucius pushes the back of it’s head down again, reminding it without a word. Head down. You aren’t a human anymore. You’re barely an animal. You are nothing.
PAIN is a reverence. numbed in the icy shards of fire lodged deep into the interior of his soul. it's a dank existence, the burning scent of sulfur searing away familiarity as it leached into his senses, nauseating and thick. those memories that clung so desperately to his head-space were washed out into the shadows of a fading mind. evocative & close, only to spiral into a recessive flicker of dulled resurgence. he doesn't want to forget, the phantom echo of his wife's voice like a dagger piercing metaphorical flesh.
dangling as if his bones were a carcass – body-less toes dragging helplessly against the unforgiving concrete floor. it smelled and felt like a slaughter house. and as he collapsed in a crumpled heap, fingers curled pathetically into blackened residue on the ground, he could feel the fight inside of him waver ( for just a moment ! ) lips curving around venomous words spat back at the hellish entity standing over his slumped form.
i will not bow. he breathes in Italian through grit teeth. will not. let you break me. malformed lies of bravery already dissolving as darkness set in. the works of Dante's Inferno, the Iliad. paintings depicting the gruesome anguish of tormented souls----- none of that held a candle to this. to the sharp twist of chains, locking him into a prone position. consciousness fading out to the buzz of silence, only for the sharp slap of water and metal to snap him back into awareness.
i am. a void.
Blindness is not enough to prevent Marcella’s tattered remnants from feeling the other demon’s energy draw near, and the creature cringes visibly away from his almost-touch as if his fingertips are dripping acid. Before all of this, it would have gladly savored a rare moment alone with its lover of over three long decades; would have smiled at the thought of a stolen embrace or his hands welcomed where so many others were merely tolerated. Not now. Not ever again. It does not want his touch wasted on this. It does not even want him to look upon the mass of grotesque ruin it has become.
He blames himself, the crossroads demon knows, though there is plenty enough of that to go around. This is not the time for hindsight–what is done is done; what is lost and gone forever will never be reclaimed. Still, there is a tiny voice in the back of the creature’s traumatized mind that ceaselessly reminds it; Lucius would never have let this happen to me, I was a fool to let my fondness for him outweigh my better judgment. This is the price I have paid for it. It is steeper than I can bear.
“–I am nothing,” It hisses in frustration, its mutilated tongue barely able to enunciate the words as it accuses, “You see what is left of me! They’ve ruined me; if I cannot seal contracts I am immaterial to Hell…Less than the offal on the floor of a torturer’s stations. Do not speak to me of Empires, Vincent, you know nothing of the concept.” The demon turns sightless eyes upon the other, lifting what remains of its face to finally give him an unimpeded view of what the hunters blade did to it. “It’s over. Save your apologies and go.”
it's voice is a discordance of fragmented slurs; tongue curling harshly around each syllable as it spoke. revulsion sits heavily in the back corners of a fragile conscience. lies are a saccharine derision from truth as emotion threads itself through the fibers of his borrowed heart. CONFLICTION. empathy torn from the guilt pounding like a hammer in his brain; what was left of Marcella, now laid in tatters ( in ruins !) her dignity stolen, along with her purpose. the shattered pieces strewn around it's crumpled, grotesque form.
the sight of it's face, carved out like the corpses he used to leave in his wake, all hollowed ; knife marks marring the ravaged flesh – instinct flinches nerves, yet he remains unfazed. as a torturer, he's seen worse. dealt his fair share of dis-figuration to the souls on the racks. used that creativity to take his activity topside. but the shock of his own lover's dismembered appearance, spikes righteous anger through his bones.
❝ over? ❞ the word settles like a stone in his gut, swallowed harshly as he warps scenarios in his mind. shoes toed an invisible boundary line, watchful of the wrath still boiling beneath the pain and trauma, like an exposed nerve. ❝ you need to regain your strength. ❞ digits curl back, refrain from contact and ball into the meat of his fist. ❝ Lucius, Riley & I are actively securing the territory. the land you've worked so hard to accrue will not fall to strays and vultures. my mistake will not cost you your contracts. if I have to see to it, myself. ❞ phrases feel convoluted, wrong. placating. most would have turned the creature over, killed it. scraps of a useless demon, that no longer held any relevance. & yet, loyalty ran deep. bonds formed in the bloodied camaraderie of soldiers. ❝ ravaged or not, you're still my boss. & i'm not leaving. was never good at taking orders. ❞
*reminder*
halfhell:
just because i’m very slow with replies doesn’t mean i don’t care about our plot !!!