#out>

[sanguinesaint]

"Miss me Vincent?" He was attempting to say 'I miss you' but he was rather poor at that sort of sentiment.

“Still alive and well, I see.” Had there been a hint of …something? As the blonde should have already known, Vincent Valentine is hardly a man to let his thought or emotion shown. What was granted is simply a statement, and acknowledgement in a slight canting of neck as midnight adorned cranium was tipped back.

Maybe the gunner had meant his answer as something else, but again, he was extremely lacking in that sort of sentiment.

“Your Turks must have been working hard.”

[sanguinesaint]

Dovie'andi se tovya sagain

It's time to toss the dice. [RP blog for Matrim Cauthon from WoT] We'll drink the wine till the cup...

out> "I have been re-reading Wheel of Time again and again. That, coupling with the fact that I just started watching Hannibal, has prompted me to create a blog for Mat since Hugh Dancy seemed too perfect a face claim for him. I'M SORRY!! I AM TOO WEAK!"

[sanguinesaint]

Congratulations! You just won the “Quality Role-Player Award” today! This is proof that you have exhibited exemplary skills in the field of Role-Play. Copy and paste this to other RP blogs that you think are quality~

out> “My! Thank you!.” =D “I’ll certainly try to be on more and live to the regard you’ve given onto me.”

[sanguinesaint]

out>

"I found myself drift away of late. My apology. I blame The Wheel of Time and life entirely."

[sanguinesaint]

"Leave me the fuck out of it."

[sanguinesaint]

She was just passing by when she notice the man again. She waved with a soft smile and spoke, "Hello... uh." It felt strange for her not to address him by a name. "May I ask for your name?" She asked properly.

Remaining in a place— any particular place— too long and you might as well put a target on yourself. To really give the consideration a voice, Vincent Valentine might have said it is much like how a man is captured in any photos granted the consider of light is half decent— noises, the gunner might have labelled that so as well.

When you move, all that you may perceive of yourself later on, is naught but a vivid colour of limbs— one bled into another. The case, however, does not appear to be so as of now where words falling forth from rose tinted lips speak as well of recognition. She knows him, as he remembers her— the girl who had asked of Chaos.

“…Vincent.”

[sanguinesaint]

"I'm Vanille! Nice to meet cha, Vincent."

“…—Miss.”

A brief pause exists where the man from whom such deliberation was uttered contemplates his choice of words. In the end, the obligation to grant the face with a name as deemed proper is instead disregarded. He’s not looking to make friends, nor could he finds himself able to believe yet that this meeting is anything but…chanced. It is then in such title and a mild inclination of head that her presence is acknowledged.

And perhaps, if chance permits, dismissed.