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he's gilbert's lil bro, and sometimes u just gotta support ur big bro in anything he puts his mind into- and if that means standing in the garden holding a hose so he can get some emo hours in on a cloudy day, then u just gotta suck it up and hold the damn hose.
am i a joke to you, vince
pokes u. pokes u. pokes u.
....... pokes u w scissors. hey. hey gil. hey. hey.
EEEEK— "HEY!" the initial reaction is to jump away but somehow he ends up simultaneously jumping away from the scissors and slapping the damn things out of Vincent's hands. "Vince, what the hell!?" They fall with a metallic clatter but floor damage from scissors is the least of his worries. "There are better ways to address someone, you know!?"
need a hug. need a recharge. come. come here brother. he needs to stock up on gil affection.
Doesn't need a hug. Doesn't need a recharge (cannot). No. No, stop coming closer.
Stiffly shuffling backwards, his hand reaches behind himself — awkwardly, blindly searching for anything to keep himself steady as he tries to keep the gap between them just enough — arms length, at best. Should he topple over on another plush's limb, he fears the worst for himself. No. "St-... What are you—"
He's growing more tense by the second, like a cornered animal — eyes darting, Gil attempts to yank a chair over to wedge between them but his own hands fumble and lose grip. Shit. He wants to shout at him but he fears that's giving Vincent what he wants. So instead, his knee-jerk reaction — before he even realizes or thinks about it — gloved hands thrust at Vincent's outstretched arms, shoving him back. Stop.
ur right, gil wears whatever ashes he was able to salvage in a necklace urn.
for the fellow immortal ( @sutuong // starter call )
THERE’S A HILARITY TO IMMORTALITY. a hilarity to not being able to die, to being fueled by infernal fires; it is the fact that his laugh has stayed the same for the past few hundred years; it is the fact that he has learned how to fight through the ages as a threat incarnate; it is the fact that he has seen the menus of restaurants change over the decades and, confusing decades for days, complained about a sudden change to their staff. the biggest point of comedy to his condition, however, is that travel becomes a check to see who was right in the past. did a human’s business take off as they claimed it would? did demons destroy all heirlooms and fractions left of a family? both might be yes, only one may be confirmed - these things drive him to see different places, to witness different events. to take stock of humanity not because he cares, but because knowing where the strong flock - where there are masses to choose from - is a necessity for his particular breed of conflict. now, he’s not sure why people are acting so frightened around him. first humans came up asking him if he needed care. then another sect emerged and asked if he was lucid. the first requisition received a hissed out no, and the last a firm yes. then he kept walking. he sees nothing wrong with his current state. his right arm may be bent entirely the wrong way, including a piece of rebar sticking awkwardly out of his shoulder, but why should that be their fucking concern? he’s fine. it doesn’t hurt: it’s a light tingling, like a limb is starting to fall asleep. all he has to do is occasionally move it around. still, people notice. they eye him. they continue to ask if he’s okay. he continues to seek solace elsewhere. continues to try and not engage with them. normally, he doesn’t give two fucks about waiting at a light before crossing the road. what the hell is a car going to do to him, hm? but today, just this one time, with his arm incorrectly bent and a piece of foot-long metal sticking out from his body, he waits. people are annoying enough with his current state of affairs. if he got up after being hit by a car, he would never be alone again. so he waits. and hopes, really, purely hopes, that no one else approaches. the universe, of course, has different ideas.
"'To the hounds'? I had no interest staying behind with any of those nobles," like Hell, he'll go back to another gathering for a while. Especially if he knows that group of women will be there in particular! "Whatever ... explicits you choose to educate yourself on during your free-time ... that's your prerogative." cont.
hands up an equally bratty 13 y/o vince is ready to brawl. see how stuck up he can act all covered in mud >/
he's ready.
open up bitch before he gets echo to break down ur dooe
