OCCISOR— VINCENT WAS OFTEN SEEN as being alike to a wild animal that felt threatened by its surroundings. Almost seemingly growl and glare at whatever came near to enforce. He looks like one too, bruised and battered, hand haphazardly wrapped in bandages in order to deal with whatever damage his brother and his goons did to him this time around. His eyes intense and enough to strike fear into the heart of most people that dare come near him. 

He huddled himself away on a playground about an hour away from his own home in some suburb that he could be quite certain his brother wouldn’t find, while at the same time taking some time to hide away and lick his wounds. Sinking down in a corner, hopefully out of sight, he tries to lay his non-wounded hand on his rapidly bruising cheek. The immediate sting that occurred before he could even fully place his hand on it. A hiss and a flinch being the result. Then, he starts stripping off his jacket to check the full extent of the bruises that bloomed all over his body after his brother’s thorough beating. 

Myles snorts in the background

               OCCISOR— Blow after blow connected with his body. Blunt force spreading dark and deep hues of violent purple and black over his skin. He did not know when exactly they had punched him in the face, but the familiar trickle of that warm, red liquid over his skin from his nose told him all he needed. He pressed his eyes closed in order to be able to ignore that image of similarly coloured eyes meeting his own-- That face that looked so similar to himself, and yet was so different.            He could feel his back connect with the harsh and abrupt stillness that the brick wall brought, slowly feeling himself slump down as the blows finally ended. He tried to take a full breath as he brought his hand to his nose, touching the trails of blood before wiping it with his sleeve for as far as he could-- seeing that it was soaking wet, there was not much of an effect other than smudging the trails. It was then that he realised it was raining--- and probably had been for a long time seeing how he was soaked through to the bone.          A deep sigh left his lips, brushing black strands of hair out of his face. He knew he should probably get up, attempt to head home without running into his brother and his goonies again. Honestly, part of him wondered why he did not just throw himself--- Or even better, his brother, off a bridge. But he knew he would not, out of pure stubbornness and because of not wanting a run in with the police.           It was then that he heard a creak of a door leading out onto this alley and he felt himself flinch, accidentally knocking over a can that someone had put down nearby and silently cursing at himself for it-- Partially hiding his face because a small, tiny part of him was afraid that it was one of them.