#vulpesse

Chummy. Pretty woman always thought they could try to act charming and playful when they were around him. Perhaps they thought there was something within him that could appreciate her beauty, something deep within him that was still susceptible to the most natural weakness of a man. Either that or she was stupid and thought he wouldn't rip her head off over minor irritation and flaunting. Both ideas were wrong of course. This was not the early 21st century anymore and he was far from the man he'd once been. Besides, Arasaka had paid him to guard this merchandise till the actual guard showed up.

" Think I'd need a reason to remember before went through the trouble. Scanning your name through the records though is a part of my job, so either tell me your name or go buy your scrap somewhere else. "

he feels safest in the forest. it’s always been this way, ever since he was a child. cities are loud, and overwhelming, and so full to the brim of humanity that he can’t seem to avoid it. the forest, though — it’s always calm, there. the trees offer shade from bright midday sun, the underbrush offering places to hide, and there was plenty to eat if you knew where to find it.

a city has plenty of food, yes, but all of it belongs to someone. everything costs a currency he doesn’t have. it’s only when hunger gnaws so sharply on him that his stomach cramps up — only then does he slip into a shop to take the food he can’t afford to buy. maybe it’s swift karma, then, that the owner had still been around. lifted hands had never saved him; he’s not sure why he tries them now, palms signaling surrender. not sure why he’s still surprised when the owner shoots instead — four, five, six times — forcing him to run instead, trailing blood and empty handed.

that’s how he ends up here: the forest. like a wounded beast, he staggers past trees lined with moss, desperate for safety and shelter. he’s going to die, he thinks — but he feels at peace knowing that he will die here, not in some overcrowded city. it hardly even hurts, anymore. something about the soft, golden light filtered through overlapping leaves is all the more beautiful to him right now. sit, the forest seems to stay. rest, whispers the rustling trees. and who is he to deny them? vasile lays down on the ground, dark blood staining the vegetation. all around him, the trees whisper, but he can’t hear them any more.

As a hitman, keeping his skills sharp meant the difference between life and death, and he would often drive out to an uninhabited area for training. Every once in a blue moon, he'd run into someone, but never one this hot, and never one who looked so pissed off. Apparently, his training disturbed the forest's peace. Or something. Yeah, gunshots were loud, but he rolled his eyes at her when she confronted him about it. "C'mon, get over it. Ya don't own this forest or anythin'. I can use it for target practice if I want to, just like you're usin' it for... Whatever the fuck you're doin'. Now leave me the fuck alone. You're cute, but that doesn't mean I won't stand my ground if ya make me," he growled in warning as his hand moved to his handgun.

⋮  ⋆˙⟡  ❴  𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅  𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓  ❵  ;  ahri  (@vulpesse)

⋮  ⋆˙⟡ ❝I  like  it  here      it's  quiet      helps  me  think  when  it's  all  too  loud.  You're  the      first  to  see  it      in  a  long  time.❞

The sound of sirens ring out through the city, wild and untamed as the cops race to find the 'criminal'. Though Blue would define himself more as a vigilante, he did what he thought was right, politics and laws be damned. And quite frankly, they should be thanking him for the fact that he ended the stand off between the actual criminal that had the bank employees and citizens held at gun point. Granted, he had a couple new holes in him thanks to his 'heroics' and a couple people did get hurt in the process... but that was beside the point. The act had made the news, naturally. Anything that the masked vigilante did tended to make it on live television...

Now if only they could catch him...

Making his way to a particular person's house, he made sure to stash away his mask and leather coat in his backpack he had stashed nearby. Still in his black cargo pants and chains that hung from his hips, all that was left on his torso was a loose fitting tank top with a collar that dipped down low on his chest. Blood coated the fabric... but thankfully it was black so it wasn't exactly the most noticeable. The blood and cut on his face, however, was another story.

Sure, he could have went through the door, sure he could have done the normal thing. But Blue was far from normal as he scales the side of the building, peering in each window until he found her.

Her.

God she was beautiful.

Tap tap tap. Taptaptaptap

" B-But I― " He shyly protested, a pout forming on his lips. He could never! Not when Lady Ahri had been oh so kind to him. Still. . . fluffy ⸻ no, no! Stop. Even if Ahri had offered, touching a part of her didn't seem appropriate. Though perhaps that was due to his massive inexperience with people in general, which in turn made the simplest of touches appear far too personal for him. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, mentally scolding himself.

But as Rurik sat beside her, her tails brushed against his shoulder and arm, as if she hadn't even noticed the contact. And he noticed, of course, he did. Rurik was always very conscious of her. Beauty paired with kindness had always been his weakness, a mix that made him uncertain of how to respond, let alone interact for a long period of time. " I'm not that tired. " That was a lie, but a lie he was willing to keep hidden. It was innocent, a way to hide his embarrassment as he hoped that his words were convincing enough. " I just need a moment. That's all. "

Like turning a wind-up doll, the knife plunged against Romeo's shoulder is turned around, twisted in a way he fails to think of as merciless. What comes out of his mouth is a melody of pain, eyes closing tight, bringing memories of the moment in which his arms were replaced by outdated machinery. The pain remains and a man's face flashes in his memory, forcing him to open his eyes to confirm he was out.

The silhouette is solace, despite them being the perpetrator of the resurfacing of memories and subsequent coursing discomfort. For a while, he has thought himself incapable of waking from the nightmare, when the knife twists, the confirmation deepens and the hurt turns mixes with desperate emotion.