ᐜ ₕ ο ο ᴘ 𝘴, it’s longLEVity

Huge thank you for all the questions, chumba!! I hope this satiates some of your questions and curiosity about Vinton, hehe! Talking about his lore and such is always a treat. (You'll have to let me know your thoughts about this menace after this straight up info-dump of mine, lol)!

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO ASK ANY OTHER QUESTIONS ABOUT HIM (whether they are from the list or not!) 💙

2. What's their favorite spot of their homes?

Vinton's fortified squat in Santo Domingo has a special little nook. He has a secret stash of all his crochet supplies in his armory. Crocheting is a guilty pleasure and his way to decompress. It’s indulged in as often as possible– or he squeezes it in, because everything else be damned– it can wait. 

(Yes, there is a sizable stash of crocheted plush toys and soft blankets. No, you can’t see any of it. No, he’s not telling you where it is… maybe he’ll make you a little something if you don’t piss him off for the next nineteen hours).

Since he spends the majority of his free time in either his netrunning chair, or tinkering with custom builds in his armoury– the little nook is complete with a nest of crocheted blankets, a single cushion, and an incredibly soft stag plush (also crocheted, of course).

(His most prized creation/invention is a custom engineered and coded quickhack that attacks the target’s biological auditory systems, specifically the cochlea and auditory nerve. Vinton finds it funny to watch ‘em stumble around in a panic at the absence of sound– then he promptly aims for the eyes or throat like the dirty fighter he is).

(Unfortunately, this quickhack is only effective if the target has a cyberdeck. He’s currently working on a possible way to circumvent that, but hasn’t worked out the specifics as of yet).

4. Do they have any core memories, regardless of age?

There are three core memories that play out in his mind. All of them bring him simultaneous feelings of comfort, and an uncomfortable burning nostalgia of sorts.

The first memory is from when he was quite young, still chubby in the cheeks and enthusiastic about new experiences that life had to offer. His family were still members of an unofficial, smaller Nomad group that roamed the UK countryside at the time. In the sprawling fields of lush vegetation and foliage, his mother and father had taken him hunting. That was the first time he’d seen a stag up close. Soft brown eyes, shiny silk coat– he’s never forgotten how it looked. A tantrum and a half later, the stag was left in peace. Vinton couldn’t take his eyes off of the creature, even as gentle hands ushered him onwards.

The second is from the summer he turned fourteen– when shit truly hit him after realizing that his hearing was deteriorating. It started as ‘a bit of a bother’, and he hadn’t paid it much mind. Sure, he’d missed some sounds and people talking to him at times. Sometimes people had to speak louder to get his attention, yeah.

It was early morning when he realized just how much he was missing. It was common for the bustle of early morning duties to bring him out of sleep in the past. Another clan member had come into his tent. He’d missed something, but he couldn’t tell what. Her voice was too muffled and low to make out any decipherable words. Nothing made sense, which made the panic worse.

Vinton didn’t ever think he’d confess to missing the sounds of idle chatter around the campfires at night, the crackling of flames that sparked to life just past midnight– or that he’d miss the mere concept of sounds so much that it hollowed out the cavity of his chest.

The third one is something cherished, held close to his skewered heart. It's simple in hindsight, but still aches something fierce. Jackie and Misty had pestered him into tagging along on their lunch date. What followed his invitation was nothing short of what he'd describe as heaven.

Jackie had managed to crack a joke that broke Vinton. Unfortunately, it happened to land right in the middle of a vape drag- so it turned more into a snort, coughing fit, and gagging. That behemoth (bless him), had slammed his brick shithouse palm against Vinton's back until he could breathe again, then launched right back to the same joke that had them all doubling over a second time. That's something he misses most about Jackie. The residual ache that comes from laughing so hard that it hurts.

The fourth, and most recent, is from the trip he took to the Badlands. It was just about midnight, and he’d broken several traffic laws in his haste to get there. He slammed to a haphazard stop and got off his motorcycle.

He’d immediately tossed himself flat on his back, propped a small speaker right next to his head, and slipped his hearing aids out and into his pocket. Volume cranked to max, rock and heavy metal that he could feel. Vinton stayed in that exact position for hours, looking up at the stars and simply letting himself vibrate through the heavy base that he could feel in his bones. From what he can recall, that was the most tranquil and at peace he’s truly felt in a long while.

8. How do they react when someone cries in front of them?

Well- this entirely depends on the situation and who’s crying. Kids and younger children are a bit of a softer spot for Vinton, and he does his best to comfort the ways he knows how (even if it’s a little awkward for both parties).

Someone his age or older? It’ll entirely depend on the nature of the situation, as well as his relationship to them. Vinton isn’t a stranger to placing the occasional supporting hand on someone’s shoulder, or a quick sort of side hug for the chumbas that aren’t just acquaintances to him (which is saying a lot- he can count on one hand the amount that fit into that category).

If the tears are coming from someone Vinton is a little more than acquainted with, but not enough to be considered ‘close’– Vinton is not ashamed to be known as the person that had ‘noped out’ of there thirty seconds ago. Emotions are fickle fucking traitors, and he doesn’t have the bandwidth to handle someone else’s on top of his own.

For people that deserve it, or had that karma shit coming? Vinton really couldn’t give less of a shit in that case. He’s probably the one that caused ‘em, and has no regrets about it. He’s not afraid to step back into that rhythm and dance of the ‘vitriolic attack dog’ – it’s something he takes the time to revel in when he’s got the time to play in its sandbox. If he wasn’t the direct cause of tears, he’ll be the one taunting.

There are rumors from bystanders of a cluster of red lights that lingers just behind alleyway corners, with some saying there’s smoke and laughter. But hey, it could just be a trick of the lights in NC, of course.

13. What’s something that feels intimate to them, even if others might consider it meaningless?

Someone who clues in on when he’s overwhelmed in social situations and adjusts to help without making it a huge ass thing. Taking even a second to do something like that makes him feel a little less isolated (not that he’d ever admit that).

Lipreading (along with his live captions cyberware and hearing aids), are what he relies on for the majority of communications. Someone who faces him when speaking is automatically a little less likely to be on his list of irritations.

Navigating social situations with hearing aids is an overwhelming challenge that he avoids as much as humanly possible. What he hears is overlapping chatter; the noise of everyone’s voices overlapping on top of each other’s. He can’t distinguish which words are coming from whom, which is the quickest way to end up with an overstimulated and very irritable Vinton.

Another thing that ties into that: ASL. With translation software being a pretty easy thing to get one's hands on nowadays, sign language exchanged between two or more people has steadily become less common. Vinton treasures the moments where he’s able to simply converse in sign with another being. It plays a big part in reminding him that he’s not singular, and that there are others who both need and find the value in it.

There was a client he did a gig for, years ago. After collecting payment, said client had thanked him for a job well done in sign. Yeah, it may have been a little sloppy- but the flash of recognition and warmth was second to none. He takes a moment to himself every so often to sit back and bask in the giddiness he’d felt in that moment.

A third (and rarely used) gesture that’s considered intimate to Vinton is genuine concern over his wellbeing. Yes, he’s aware that sounds extremely ‘low bar’- shut up. Not many people are ever made aware of Vinton’s epilepsy (for good reason). It was Vik who was the first person in NC that he told about it, and subsequently the first to display something that felt uncomfortably close to genuine care in that regard.

Strobes and flashing lights are commonplace for just about every kind of advertisement under the sun, which is one of the reasons Vinton avoids going anywhere downtown if he can help it. It had been on a short walk to Misty’s, where Vik had steered him in an alternate direction in order to avoid a handful of strobing signs. It seems small, but that gesture meant a whole fucking lot to Vinton.

(An additional one that isn’t as detail filled but still fits into this, is compliments about skills that he’s honed and worked hard to maintain. You would not be able to waterboard information out of Vinton about his reception to the compliments that both Johnny and Vik sometimes supplied in regards to his aim or a tricky maneuver executed smoothly).

29. What’s something they’re terrified people will discover about them?

There’s a couple things in particular, but some are on a more philosophical level than others.

He truly does have a soft underbelly and tender heart underneath. Is it still there? Some days, he swears he can still feel it, albeit bruised and battered. It's just hidden deep beneath the multitude of layered masks and walls he’s built up. He’s still steadfast in his belief that there’s nothing in the world that someone could offer that would wear him down enough to crack his chest open. He doesn’t want to go back to being that person. Ever.

The concept of closeness terrifies him. Vinton oscillates between almost being ‘too eager’ when around or in a family dynamic, to completely rejecting it, fighting it and pushing people away. Storming off, fits of anger and inconsolable rage, starting fights out of nowhere for no reason. Has a tendency to, uh– ‘poke the bear’, as it were.

Deeper down, the belief that he’s cruel, self-serving, and fucked in the head are what drives him in an (admittedly) odd sort of way. He feels a need to be cruel, sharp tongued, and defensive. Without that, there isn’t a clear version of himself that he can see and believe is real. Who else would be doing these things but him?

30. What’s something they wish people noticed about them?

That he knows he’s unstable to a degree. He’s aware that he’s a bit of a glass cannon. Vinton is the person that throws himself in head first. It might come off as if he’s got no regard towards himself and others, but he does it because that’s all he’s been submerged in for so long. He runs risks and outcomes for every single situation.

This kind of adrenaline chasing, reckless, ‘skin of your teeth’ mindset is the only way he knows how to live. That is the only way he knows how to make himself useful and have any value. Without those things, he’s adrift. He needs a goal, a mission, anything with a clear cut outcome.

His own emotions scare him, but the need to feel in control is what wins. That cocktail leads him to embrace the ‘face’ of whatever and whomever he’s perceived as by others.

He’s a crass, cynical, and petty sonuvabitch– but he’d rather have that be all people perceive him to be. Otherwise it’d crack open something repressed for far too long, and he’s terrified to know the kind of person it would turn him into after the fact.

(He quite likes to think that his entire demeanour literally ‘begs people not to dig deeper than necessary’).

33. What is their greatest wish?

To one day, maybe be okay with the concept of family and closeness again. A part of him, deep down, yearns to know what it feels like to be loved and held again, with no ultimatum or deal being struck. To finally feel okay with the concept of slowing down, possibly even smoothing down his edges a bit.

Tolerate the idea that opening up might not fuck him over every single time. For his brain to settle, to eventually understand that just maybe it’s alright to not have his teeth bared and never retracted.

Sometimes it takes a while to realize that it’s happening again— an ebbing tide. My grey matter can be such a rotten rotten place.

I miss the body I once inhabited; before sickness. I mourn the loss of everything that could have been.

Vinton and I had the immense pleasure of being one of the testers for @barbedvvire's latest stunningly crafted masterpiece!

As of April 7th, The Moth’s Rooftop Apartment is out of the testing phase and available– which you can find the link for on his page– (as well as the links to his other socials).

All I can say about the unsurprising amounts of detail and heart to be found here- is that Lou has outdone himself yet again with the sheer love, shit-ton of effort, and time that he always pours into making every one of his locations!

Whenever you get the chance, make sure to check this haven out, chumbas! 💙

Absolutely gorgeous, and hearing the crunch of leaves, the birds warbling, water burbling, the life of nothing but nature around me- there aren’t words that would be able to describe how amazing it is!

Now after returning to the usual buzz and rotating pattern of everyday life, all I want is to go back.

aaAAAA

(Have some photos from my adventures!)

Apparently my arrhythmia has decided that now was an opportune time to make itself known? I’ve got work to do, can we do this later?!

“Try turnin’ the world off. Works wonders, swear by it.”

"..." "..."

"..."

"I'm on a break- y'talk too much anyway."

This menace is back at it again- the usual. Is he brooding? Adding to his consistently growing mental shit list? Going through another existential crisis? Nobody knows.

GAAAH, I’ve been thinking about doing a shite ton of research into modding for a while, and possibly creating a mod that adds a few different styles of hearing aids– specifically BTE models (much like my own)!

This menace needs ‘em too. He is giving zero shits, however. No noises for him, lol! His listening ears are NOT in right now, and I support his decision. (Being able to ‘take off’ one’s ears is very helpful– highly recommend it).

I hope that this resonates with someone, and brings some comfort in knowing that you aren’t alone. That you aren’t singular in these moments and thoughts that plague you at terribly inopportune times in existence.

(In less eloquent terms: this shit sucks, and it’s okay to feel whatever ways you do. Carrying that guilt and frustration in the aftermath is hard, I understand that all too well.)

Take care, you bright and beautiful beings.💙🫂

———————————————————————

The worst part about panic is when you’re trying to make it make sense. To rationalize it. You’re stuck on the outside. Watching yourself.

It almost makes you want to laugh- the sight of yourself from this ever familiar, detached perspective. If you could find the air to, that is.

You’re berating yourself from above; “it’s not that hard”, “you’re being irrational”, “why is this causing you so much strife?”, “Why do you give it so much power over you?”

But it doesn’t matter what’s said, because in that moment you can’t bring yourself to confront any part of whatever the panicked half of yourself says. The lid keeps popping open and you can’t keep it shut. What feels like hundreds of conflicting signals builds and builds, weight upon weight.

And you’re tired.

Too much flying past. Too fast to catch.

Your heart feels like it’s damn near breaking your ribs with the force it’s hammering against your chest.

Wasn’t it easier to breathe just moments ago?

Why can’t you grab hold of the handle on this runaway train? This isn’t complicated. Stop spinning and think.

Why does everything swirl and spin in your second half’s eye?

You just need to stop and think. It’ll all be okay- if you give it a moment.

… won’t it?

Just keep it shut.

All you need to find is a gap to slow the spread. Dig your nails into it until something cracks. Breaks. The iron clad grip loses its hold. Releases.

Releases?

The sensation of dragging in breath through a straw is gone. Eventually.

You’ve exited the train, though you can’t recall how. Feet back on the ground.

Exhaust pipes overheated, spitting out plumes of smoke. You wade your way through the remaining gusts.