[ Vanitas died, but it isn't his first time. He'd been defeated before, in his own world, and he's died here once already— so when he gets up, when he eventually makes his way out of the church for the clockwork arrival of the ferry, he isn't expecting anything to be different.
There's a routine to it. The Lighthouse's beacon goes off, the red light flares to guide the ferry in, and Vanitas comes with his Unversed to steal supplies before the rest of them can make it up to the General Store for the citizens to peruse at their leisure. Vanitas isn't much one to share. He has no reason at all to believe anything should be different.
In retrospect, he should've known. The warnings were there. Winters had been living proof of it.
His gaze is up on the Lighthouse when he crests the hill, and it's tracks away and down to his feet as he makes his way toward the shore— it's only when he hears the hush of the surf that it happens. His gaze snaps up, and finds the water. The lake is long, and so very black. From his vantage point, it seems to stretch out forever, one big oil slick. The sliver of the moon reflects, shimmering, in the wake still rocking it from the ferry's approach. When the lighthouse beam turns, it slices a river of blood through the black before disappearing again.
Vanitas knows fear— but even at the hands of the spirits, even being torn apart, he's never felt something like this. It roots him to the spot, utter horror slamming through him like ice poured over his head. His heart lunges into his throat, hammering his ribcage as the fight or flight response takes hold. His eyes go huge, his pupils small. He can't feel his limbs— and he can't look away from the water. ]
General Store
[ Since he can't make it to the beach, he's forced back to the General Store to pick at whatever makes it up from the ferry. He needs some clothes, and as always, he's hunting after sweets. Even after all these months, he still hasn't learned to go after anything with any sort of substance in it.
So even if the person nearby him only happens to be glancing in the direction of the honey, Vanitas physically pushes in next to them, shouldering them bodily out of the way regardless of his short stature to wrap his hand around the glass honey jar and pulling it off the shelf.
With his prize in hand, he looks derisively at whomever happened to be in his way, the yellow of his eyes glancing them from head to foot. The effect is a little strange, because he doesn't hold his lantern aloft like any normal person would. The black flame inside of it makes it seem much dimmer than anyone else's, and it seems to float near his ankle, held by a little dark creature. ]
Find something else to eat.
The Bike Shop
[ He hasn't gone out of his way to do much exploring the last month. Too many things happening, too many things keeping him preoccupied— and the bike shop, blessedly, isn't anywhere near the rivers.
Vanitas loiters outside the shop, poking around the stationary bikes, and finally picks up his lantern to go in and really start looking around. He's never been here before, but the bikes— they remind him of his own world. They remind him of Them, the Keyblade Masters. He can't really tell how that makes him feel just yet— aside from a sort of surge of pride that he hasn't felt in some time.
He had never been given something cool like this. Oh, he's had his Keyblade, and he could ride that, but that wasn't the same as this.
When he hears someone else come in to the shop, he stands up quickly from behind one of the motorcycles, where he'd been inspecting the mechanics of it. The room is so dark that he almost disappears into it, only the dim light of his lantern and the shine of his yellow eyes standing out in the black. ]
WILD CARD
[ooc; any other scenarios hit me up here! you can also find me on plurk at scrubdaddy if you want to plot or have questions! ]
vanitas | ota
[ Vanitas died, but it isn't his first time. He'd been defeated before, in his own world, and he's died here once already— so when he gets up, when he eventually makes his way out of the church for the clockwork arrival of the ferry, he isn't expecting anything to be different.
There's a routine to it. The Lighthouse's beacon goes off, the red light flares to guide the ferry in, and Vanitas comes with his Unversed to steal supplies before the rest of them can make it up to the General Store for the citizens to peruse at their leisure. Vanitas isn't much one to share. He has no reason at all to believe anything should be different.
In retrospect, he should've known. The warnings were there. Winters had been living proof of it.
His gaze is up on the Lighthouse when he crests the hill, and it's tracks away and down to his feet as he makes his way toward the shore— it's only when he hears the hush of the surf that it happens. His gaze snaps up, and finds the water. The lake is long, and so very black. From his vantage point, it seems to stretch out forever, one big oil slick. The sliver of the moon reflects, shimmering, in the wake still rocking it from the ferry's approach. When the lighthouse beam turns, it slices a river of blood through the black before disappearing again.
Vanitas knows fear— but even at the hands of the spirits, even being torn apart, he's never felt something like this. It roots him to the spot, utter horror slamming through him like ice poured over his head. His heart lunges into his throat, hammering his ribcage as the fight or flight response takes hold. His eyes go huge, his pupils small. He can't feel his limbs— and he can't look away from the water. ]
General Store
[ Since he can't make it to the beach, he's forced back to the General Store to pick at whatever makes it up from the ferry. He needs some clothes, and as always, he's hunting after sweets. Even after all these months, he still hasn't learned to go after anything with any sort of substance in it.
So even if the person nearby him only happens to be glancing in the direction of the honey, Vanitas physically pushes in next to them, shouldering them bodily out of the way regardless of his short stature to wrap his hand around the glass honey jar and pulling it off the shelf.
With his prize in hand, he looks derisively at whomever happened to be in his way, the yellow of his eyes glancing them from head to foot. The effect is a little strange, because he doesn't hold his lantern aloft like any normal person would. The black flame inside of it makes it seem much dimmer than anyone else's, and it seems to float near his ankle, held by a little dark creature. ]
Find something else to eat.
The Bike Shop
[ He hasn't gone out of his way to do much exploring the last month. Too many things happening, too many things keeping him preoccupied— and the bike shop, blessedly, isn't anywhere near the rivers.
Vanitas loiters outside the shop, poking around the stationary bikes, and finally picks up his lantern to go in and really start looking around. He's never been here before, but the bikes— they remind him of his own world. They remind him of Them, the Keyblade Masters. He can't really tell how that makes him feel just yet— aside from a sort of surge of pride that he hasn't felt in some time.
He had never been given something cool like this. Oh, he's had his Keyblade, and he could ride that, but that wasn't the same as this.
When he hears someone else come in to the shop, he stands up quickly from behind one of the motorcycles, where he'd been inspecting the mechanics of it. The room is so dark that he almost disappears into it, only the dim light of his lantern and the shine of his yellow eyes standing out in the black. ]
WILD CARD
[ooc; any other scenarios hit me up here! you can also find me on plurk at scrubdaddy if you want to plot or have questions! ]