A sharp exhale, audible in the silent night, passed through rosen lips, chin lifting to follow the scarlet shadow that flew through the darkness of the city. Bangs settled over her eyes, one heel clicking against the pavement as she unconsciously stepped forward in a reflexive attempt to follow him.
Her heart sank in her chest. What had she expected? Recognition, revelation, reconciliation. Step one, two, and three seamlessly executed after one another to create the desired outcome. Sadly, emotions couldn’t be controlled like cells and elements; couldn’t be measured and mixed and regulated — they were an uncontainable corrosive substance, poisoning everything they came in contact with.
Or maybe that was just her.
A slow blink, yet another sigh, heavier this time, and she hung her head, gathering her strength before moving forward, across the street and to the alleyway the marksman had entered moments previous. She should let this go. He had no desire to see her — she was his tormentor in every sense of the word. Why did she hunt him down like this?
Because he was all she had left of a past long gone.
In the darkness of the alley, the scientist lifted her head, scanning the tops of the buildings or what she could see of them, determination hinting at the tension in her brow.
"—…Vincent. You’re here; I know you are."
The drop was sudden when he finally made it like a dead weight homeward bound. Ignoring her had only lasted so long; his cloaked visage was ever torn between his duty and his honor. Thus human and metal found purchase on something midway. A rung, then the rail of a fire escape and lastly a bricked ledge. Perhaps it had been a balcony once - the crumbling edges now shadowed by the edges of his battered cloak. He would not come any closer despite her request to speak - not yet. It was poor practice though, not stubbornness, that prevented his features from expressing the emotional swell inside. Vincent simply stared, face half hidden by the high rise of his collar and tendrils of dark hair. The unnatural red of his eyes bored down on her, intense and contemplative - silent. She looked like she was doing well. This was the first time he had witnessed her in such close proximity since her return. Her features, like his, unchanged despite the years and yet nostalgia clung to every gentle edge. From her coat to the curl of her hair the familiarity both pained and pleased him. Lucrecia's resounding sadness however only provoked the former of these feelings. He did not doubt that it was because of his presence that night. "... ... ..." In the dark of the ally the shadows his hunched figure cast lay tangled on the dirtied floor. They reached towards her, obscured by the many other shapes cast by all that hung overhead. Here he blended in where she, in white, stuck out - different, special. It had always been so and now the manner in which they were worlds apart was all that was different. Though his mind raced he could not decide what could have caused her to call for him.
