The world he knew had been stolen with the same indistinct quickness as slipping into sleep. There was no concrete boundary he stepped across, no recollection of travel–indeed, as though having fallen asleep, he simply woke in a world so disconnected from the events he last recalled that he initially struggled to grasp his bearings. But those events could not have been anything like a dream – his head pounded to the beat of the wound he received from the bedlam caused by a berserk Chloé d'Apchier, the blood seeping from it still fresh. His hand instinctively reached for his Book, securely fastened to his hip; his eyes reactively searched for a trace of the others who were at that scene with him, finding nobody.
Frustrated by this sudden change in events, he harshly rubbed the blood on his forehead onto his sleeve and stomped into the city for information. He figured that if he was brought here, then the others present at that scene would have also been drawn into this place. –Not like he was worried for their wellbeing, of course, but perhaps they would have an inkling of what had transpired.
It did not take him long to catch word of some art gallery that currently captivated the attention of the city’s residents, which, annoyingly, called Noé and his penchant for getting distracted to mind. If Vanitas was bound to locate anyone first, Noé would be the easiest–he knew far too well of the way that man functions.
Even disregarding the frustrations that weighed on his mind, the gallery itself did not much interest him, nor did the whisperings of enchanted tools which could render one’s thoughts into an artistic reality. No, nothing in this world particularly mattered to him; he had abandoned his patient, albeit against his will, and now wasted time looking for someone on a mere assumption. He set his jaw, hands bound into knuckle-white fists as he searched the museum, and he was so preoccupied that he almost missed the wafting smell of cooking coming from one of the exhibits. He pivoted, heading toward the room on a faint hunch– and found what he was looking for.
Noé turned, and behind him, Vanitas could see that the man had been busying himself by making food. The sight made his blood boil, but that agitation was swiftly dwarfed by Noé’s reaction upon seeing him. What kind of a reaction is that? His lips stretch into a smile as thin as his patience.
“… Hm? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, dear Noé. Judging by what you just said… am I your ghost?” Vanitas did not bother to control the venom which seeped into his words. He could never claim to fully understand the vampire before him, but he could, at the very least, observe and understand the series of events which produced a particular reaction. But this was…
“If you have something to say, spit it out.”
not knowing what to focus on first, noé instead decided to look over the male, injured from battle -- that was why his scent was so clear the vampire presumed -- and although noé was more of a person to act on instinct than reason, he tried to hold back his urges to simply give in to temptation and go straight for the other and instead figure out what exactly was going on. this was messing with his head and not in a good way.
but instinct told him that the vanitas before him was somehow not complete, somehow not the one he had last seen, and the way he spoke as if nothing had happened, as if they were still just the ordinary partners in crime, acquaintances with benefits, only served to confirm that growing suspicion. subconsciously noé rose a gloved hand to wipe blood that no longer existed away from under his eye as if tracing a scar that should be there but wasn’t. and only then did he decide upon his actions.
one step. then another. and in an instant the distance between them was closed and noé reached out to grab at the other’s collar, having no care in his mind that he would mess up the fanciful attire. “you...!” he huffed breathing hard, the scent of blood even more clear now that he was so close. for a moment he stood there and then, without further ado, he moved his head lightly backwards to get momentum to headbutt the other with as much force as he could muster.
“you!” he repeated, pointing an accusing finger at the other, fury evident in his visage and body language, but more determined, more typical than the confusion he had previously been filled with. this was okay wasn’t it? something like this? it was okay for him to believe and deal with what was at hand instead of worrying about what was left behind no matter how much he wished to return to that scene and bring things to an end?
“you want me to spit it out, huh?!” he retorted, obviously being a nuisance to everyone in the area. “that’s rich coming from you! when do you ever tell me anything yourself?!” perhaps an unfair accusation albeit correct. vanitas was his ghost? no way that was true. noé already had enough worry about his own kin and comrades to worry about some human who didn’t even tell him what was going on half of the time and just exploited him whenever it pleased him.
“it’s been a month and you just come waltzing in all willy-nilly as if nothing has happened? someone like you don’t deserve an explanation. what are you going to say in your defense?” the more his heated vent continued, the more noé realised that despite his attempts to make this new place a worthwhile endeavour he had, in fact, been lost and lonely, worried and confused. and somehow vanitas’ annoying face made all those feelings emerge inside him. “stand straight so i can punch you...!”