#duality.start

Smoke billows from Ransom’s lips. It’s a dark evening, the street lights seemingly more dim due to the ever creeping frost of December. There’s a thump, thump, thump behind him that feels like it’s drilling into his skull. Far too many floors up there’s a party that rages on without him, though the headache doesn’t dissipate. The idea that he’s getting too old of this type of shit just serves to irritate him. It’s a requirement in this life to keep up appearances, if he wants that pretty penny then he’s got to be pretty until he’s old and gray. Ransom takes another long drag of his cigarette in irritation before he notices a figure in his peripheral vision. “I hope you’re not here to ask to bum a cigarette off me, ‘cause I’m not all that into sharing.” He tells the stranger, being a bit of a dick by blowing smoke directly at them.

         *   — -    WITH  HER  FINGERS  CAREFULLY  brushing  the  gentle ,  sweet  flesh  of  the  budding  lilies  that  had  just  been  watered  ;  aerith  felt  a  smile  play  up  her  stained  ,  full  lips .  she  could  never  EXPLAIN  it ,  but  simply  being  around  the  masses  of  flowers  (  all  at  her  disposal  )  was  one  of  the  only  things  in  her  life  that  could  get  her  to  smile  without  trying .  listening  to  the  flowers  as  they  spoke  to  her ,  reminding  her  that  at  one  point  they  had  something  important  to  tell  her .  something  they  couldn’t  say  quite  yet .  only  a  question  of  what  they  said  to  follow  ;  aerith  answering  with  a  lie :  GOOD  WORK  TODAY ,  GUYS .

“shit.”

Alessa felt a sudden dread hit her, the shadder brush in her hand having gathered enough paint at its tip to splash some across the ground as she stepped back. Her eyes flickered over the corners of the canvas, from left to right, scanning and searching for any imperfections, for that one mistake that would send a bottle of paint straight towards it. 

The painting had taken the majority of two weeks. Whenever the sun was out shinning on the streets of ALUCARD, you could find an apron clad brunette carrying about an easel and an array of jarred items. Small leaves along the Pennsylvania roads, the rust that gathered along a building that had stood more than just the test of time, she once swore she could catch the morning fog that passed through too, all for the sake of authenticity. 

Hell, Alessa was her own walking Harvard collection of color. She thrived off those perfect colors, ones people could identify with, that one shade of blue that could get one to say, “Hey, that reminds me of something...”

She realized, only now really, that in her sudden excitement to call her project done, that she had something was off. No matter how long she stood there, she couldn’t catch it; a block of buildings in town a florescent green, rather than a barnyard red.

Running a hand through her hair, she let out a sigh, splatters and mixtures of a corner store she had shaded earlier covering her arm and now cheek. She could hear steps behind her, and rather be her own critic, chose to get another eye on the case.

“Excuse me,” She pipped up, wiping her hand across her apron. “Do you think I could get a second opinion on this?” 

As he walked him along the grass, the dog sniffed out a young woman jogging nearby, Dean quickly pulled him back. “Oh no, you don’t, mama won’t approve of you taking her home, boy.” He teasingly scolded, his eyes catching a glimpse of an ice cream vendor down the way, “but I do know something she WILL approve of.” Grinning widely, he made his way to the vendor, ordering a vanilla ice cream cone and one chocolate dipped cone. He didn’t know where in any any century would it be a good idea to try to walk a dog while both hands are pre occupied which is exactly why he stopped off at a nearby bench, instantly licking at the ice cream cone, moving his hand down so the dog could take his own taste, “Yeah, pretty good, huh?” He asked with a smile, petting at the top of his head, before taking a lick of his own when suddenly a noise startled the dog and he began to run off. “Miracle, no!” He called out, getting up from the bench, “son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath when he realized both of his hands were still occupied with the ice cream, attempting to shove them off on the nearest person, “Here, hold these,” he commanded before running off in attempt to retrieve the escaped pet. 

VICTOR’S BEEN HAVING WEIRD VISIONS LATELY,  of a city he doesn’t recognise.  but the visions are so vivid,  that he has no idea where they're coming from,  if the images are real or not.  it doesn't help that his body has been aching more and more lately;  phantom pain from the accident,  or at least that's what he keeps telling himself.  it doesn’t help,  really doesn’t,  not when some of these visions are too real to be fake,  when he's more machine than human in his visions.

HE HAD TO GO ON LEAVE FROM WORK JUST TO COPE,  especially after abusing his body,  going days without sleep or food.  he hadn't been this bad since the accident  -  he'd managed to recover after a while,  but it was as if the circus had brought all of that back again.  he felt mildly guilty for going on break,  knowing his co-workers also weren't doing great.  so,  after finishing all the errands he’s had to run and bringing boxes of pizzas as his apology gift to his coworkers,  he’s just on his way to the mechanic shop when he bumps into a figure.  the boxes fall to the ground,  and vic winces.  oops.