[ A r c h i v e ]

For a few months after joining Cloud’s entourage, Vincent took hour long showers when able. While he didn’t sleep thirty years straight, there were certainly strings of years where he was effectively in stasis. Thus, he felt as if it’d take forever to scrub whatever dust and dirt had settled on him.

Post-Dirge, without Chaos as a mental tenant yet still with three other daemons, Vincent is forced to wander [he’s tried to settle]. A small yet effective hairbrush, a travel sized toothbrush and toothpaste, and 2in1 shampoo are kept in one of many pouches. Baths are daily [in optimum conditions] and hair is done twice a week [more if a battle has been particularly gory].

Send ☤ and I will write a drabble with my muse in an asylum, and yours comes to visit.

“Reach out and touch f a i t h …”

A cackle sounded, pitched and scraping in it’s raw intensity. “Faith-” The word spat with such acidic venom that had it been physical force, the caustic nature would melt the surrounding walls. “The belief in something that cannot be proven, seen, heard, or interacted with…” 

Bloodied fingertips idly toyed with a cracked edge of concrete; the visitation room obviously fallen into disrepair, and the hospital budget not nearly enough to remodel. “You… always told me to have it. To have it… and hold it…” Dark hues that were detached from reality shifted from the grey fissure, sliding to take in the pristine appearance of the man that had  p u t  h i m  h e r e. 

Wait. Had that one put him here? …It didn’t matter.