Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ A Real Transformation ❯ Love Potion #9 ( Chapter 9 )

 

Vincent lazily sat back in the tub as it filled turning the water off before it could overflow. The scent was enticing, almost sensual like an aphrodisiac, but lethargic and pleasing. Glad to wash his stress and worries away, he took his time, washing his arms and legs first, his face and neck and the rest of him. Having the pleasure of being able to wash his hair, considering before he'd been in such bad shape he was barely getting by, but at least now he could afford shampoo. The scents mingled, refreshing, musky and a little sweet, pleasing to the senses, but finally he had to drain the hot water after soaking a good while, his slender fingers already pruned. Dripping wet, he squeezed out ebony black hair, pulling down a soft cotton towel. Compared to his life before, Vincent felt like he was living in luxury, and in a sense he was. Humming softly and looking forward to a good night of sleep, he toweled himself dry, wrapping his towel about his waist and planning to at least pull on pants to sleep in, and he was glad he did.

 

“Sephiroth?” his voice questioned as he stopped in his bathroom doorway, staring at his bed where the cocky swordsman laid, only half dressed. His things sat on his dresser top next to his claw in its case, as well as his gun.

 

Under the impression Sephiroth had planned to stay awhile or else already had been there awhile, he blinked to quickly recompose himself. What was Sephiroth doing here? He thought he had lost him or else the taller man had given up, but it didn't seem that way. A mako green eye peeked open.

 

“Glad to see you didn't drown yourself,” the silver haired man smirked, sitting up and removing his hands from behind his head. “You certainly did take long enough though.” Feigning a yawn and an exaggerated groan, he narrowed his eyes, moving over and patting the warm spot beside him, where he had laid.

 

“Come sit and we'll talk. It has been a long while hasn't it? And I've been eager to talk to you again.” Wary, and quite aware that he was mostly naked, Vincent's first thoughts were Sephiroth had managed to get in quietly. The ex Turk's second thought was his guard had been down because he had felt secure, and that was a mistake. Edging towards his dresser for a pair of jeans, he pulled them on, managing to keep something covering him and avoiding giving Sephiroth the pleasure of being flashed. The arrogant young man did grin wolfishly though, perverted thoughts no doubt twisting around inside that maniacally ingenious head of his.

 

“What are you here for Sephiroth? Don't tell me you missed me….” The swordsman barked a laugh. He had been telling himself Vincent wouldn't need his pants for too much longer, but since he had gone through the trouble of putting them on, Sephiroth would allow him the pleasure of wearing them awhile longer. Such a beautiful man and a beautiful body, was he really so oblivious that he assumed Sephiroth didn't hunger to control his body? Sephiroth had concluded it was more like a power struggle, because the ex Turk had played so hard to get for so long, and the first class soldier was up for the challenge. Oh yes, and he wouldn't back down now, just because Vincent was afraid of the big bad wolf, or at least didn't like his intentions.

 

“I'm here to…. Pay the piper, in a manner of speaking.” Sitting up, he leaned back to show he wasn't a threat and that he'd stay as long as he needed before he got what he came for.

 

“What do you mean?” Vincent asked suspiciously, frowning and crossing his arms. He wouldn't flee his apartment like last time, oh no, not yet. Besides he had more things that were worth something, like his sponge and his toothpaste.

 

Sephiroth only grinned wider and patted the bed beside him again.

 

“Come here, Princess, and I'll tell you.” With pursed lips, a slender dark brow arched.

 

“I don't trust you enough for me to come over there.” His voice was bland and venomous.

 

“I've heard Adrian treated you pretty well not too long ago,” the swordsman said, quickly changing the subject.

 

“Better than you ever would.”

 

“Even after he raped you?” Vincent said nothing, looking away shortly, Sephiroth laughing softly. “Oh my, maybe it wasn't rape then. But he did certainly seem jealous. So there was something between you two?” Goading him the other was hoping to rile Vincent up, doubting he would leave, but he'd surely come close enough to grab. Blushing at the memories, the ex Turk felt a stirring inside him. Was it lust, just from the inappropriate images running through his head, or did he really feel something for Adrian after all? He had apologized and seemed on his way in life, something like a phase, but they both still had memories.

 

“There's nothing between me and him. He was my former boss, then an acquaintance willing to extend his hand in help when I was in dire need of a place to get away from you.”

 

His voice was scathing, but it seemed to amuse Sephiroth even more.

 

“Oh, but I am here to help you. You just don't know it yet.” Legs folded under him, Sephiroth dared to intimate at what he planned, but it seemed to throw Vincent for a loop. What was the ex Turk supposed to expect, after all. Was someone coming for him? Maybe Adrian was coming back and wanted him, or wanted payment for paying his way at the lodge? Ruby eyes searched a mischievously serious green before wandering a little lower over a toned chest, muscles shapely evidence of how well Sephiroth worked out, and then, a little lower….and then he caught himself and his eyes snapped back up to Sephiroth's.

 

“If I didn't know any better, I would say you were just checking me out. Like what you see?” Sephiroth chuckled softly, half wondering if the brunette did the same with all the men that came into The Lady's Bug looking for a woman. Maybe he was supposed to have an eye for it, but he wasn't on work now, so why bother? Vincent only snorted disapprovingly, shifting slightly. Body having reacted oddly before, it hadn't gone away, and after looking over Sephiroth, it only grew a little more.

 

Purposely licking his lips, the swordsman beckoned once more.

 

“You seem to be well. And Adrian has been out of the picture. But what do you plan on doing in the long run? Make a living just to stay here? Or make enough to run away somewhere else?” He sounded taunting, but it didn't dampen Vincent who stalked around to the other side of the bed, to his bathroom, taking a moment before agreeing with the latter statement.

 

“It wouldn't be bad. Isn't that what most people want? They just don't get enough to find a good place elsewhere in the world. It cost money, and if you don't work for ShinRa, you're screwed,” Vincent commented wryly, brushing out his hair. The statement made Sephiroth smirked, but only at the lewdness of it.

 

“Then if you're screwed, what are you waiting for?” The younger man leaned forward on the bed to get a better look at the curve of Vincent's behind, but the other only stayed silent. He knew it would take awhile to save up, but he was doing well now, better than a lot of other people in the slums, the people that stole to survive, taking the risk of death or life imprisonment of filching from someone higher up in class.

 

Deciding he didn't want to wait and play the nice guy anymore, a little impatient with how long he'd waited already, he sneaked off the bed, knowing Vincent could see him in the mirror, and knowing he would retaliate to any sudden moves, to take any chances or openings he could—however—he was also cornered. Pausing several steps away from Vincent, he watched his pale face in the mirror, his brush still in hand, a weapon if he so wished. Raising his brows, Sephiroth stood a moment before deftly slipping an arm around his waist. He knew the Turks were well trained in close, hand to hand combat as well as long range, but the space was a little smaller, and he certainly was bigger, frame wise and in height. The back of the brush swiftly smacked the back of his hand to let Vincent's go, but he didn't, taking a split second opportunity to catch his wrist and twist it, the brush clattering to the countertop. A pain rushed through his foot, splintering up his ankle as the wily slender man ground down with his heel, struggling to throw him off, but Sephiroth persisted.

 

Backing them both out of the bathroom, Sephiroth turned Vincent around to land on the bed, face pressed to the sheets, legs scrambling to get a kick in. The darkling tried to break his grip, to throw him off, but Sephiroth was heavier and stronger. There was a reason Vincent preferred guns, but he wasn't armed, and whenever he had a hand free, it was captured again and pinned. He growled in frustration, which only served to make Sephiroth laughed. He wiggled and squirmed but he was wasting his energy. His wrists were being squeezed painfully together at his chest, a knee, sliding between his legs from behind and nudging them open until Sephiroth was settled between them. His body was reacting before his mind could process the feeling of a hand groping him through the fabric. He was hard already with only a few touches, and it made him moan shamefully when Sephiroth unzipped him and weaseled a hand in, pressed against heated flesh.

 

“Good boy,” was the whisper in his ear, soft and dangerous. Vincent knew he was in trouble, and he began to struggle again, but when he only succeeded in causing more friction against his arousal, making his writhe in pleasure instead of flounder in panic, he stopped, breathing heavily.

 

“See now? I'll make you feel good if you behave. But maybe you want me to be rough instead? Maybe you want me to punish you, you kinky bastard.” Vincent shivered under the warmth of the other's breath in his ear.

 

Having to swallow hard to find his voice, Vincent glared over his shoulder, ready to take an opening when it appeared.

 

“Asshole,” he spat out. The knee at his backside rubbed against him in reminder.

 

“Just a moment, my treasure, and I'll get there.” Laughing lewdly, Sephiroth rather roughly coaxed Vincent onto the bed entirely. One hand still pinning the ex Turk's wrists together, he put a knee to his back to keep him down and submissive, his free hand fishing for a leather chord in his pocket. Taking the length out and binding Vincent's hands together, he flipped him over, sitting on his midsection, his weight unmerciful as he lashed him to the headboard, the metal bars betraying Vincent. Although the bed wasn't as big as Sephiroth might have liked, he could still work with it. Sure that Vincent couldn't escape no matter what, considering he had nothing on him to attempt cutting the bonds, he reached over to turn on the small bedside lamp, retreating to the bathroom and retrieving the bath oil, mixed with the potion Hojo had been working so fervently on. Flipping off the bathroom light, he had considered bringing other fun toys, but he could save it, as long as he had Vincent tied up and waiting for him to come back and administer the potion that would drive him utterly insane.

 

Sitting on the bed, he placed the oil on Vincent's stomach, pulling his pants off and deciding not to waste his fun, revealing a prominent and tempting manhood. Smirking, he stroked Vincent who glared half heartedly, words chased away as a moan filled the back of his throat. He felt like he was spiking a fever, the way Sephiroth touched him, breathed on him, and the crazy thing was, he urgently wanted him. It was crazy, the way his heart was pounding when Sephiroth poured the oil into one hand to start roughly stroking Vincent, his legs spreading invitingly, his breath already short. What was going on? He didn't really want him that badly, did he? But looking into seductive green eyes, he couldn't help but fall prey.

 

“Sephiroth…” the name was a desiring whisper, aching with need and want.

 

“Should I pay you for your services then?” the first class soldier whispered in his ear, making ruby eyes flutter closed, arching into Sephiroth's body, stretched across him. He thrust against Sephiroth's pumping hand, a low hum in his ear, the voice taunting, yet somehow reassuring.

 

“Lose yourself in the pleasure, my angel. Don't think about whether something right or proper. Let your body take over and lose yourself.” Sephiroth had pushed his fingers into Vincent's body, two at a time, stroking over his prostate and making him cry out, cringing and wiggling beneath Sephiroth, jerking at the rope tied about his wrists. He panted in a silent shout of pleasure, legs automatically wrapping around a solid waist to pull Sephiroth closer, farther into him.

 

“Wait, my sex kitten. Be patient and let me play for a while, and I promise you'll get what you want.” But even if Vincent was listening, he couldn't have interpreted what was said, his mind too scrambled with pure lust and passion to care. Tensing around a third finger as it was added, the process was somewhat painful as he was stretched, though the lubricating oil helped a bit. Whatever it was, it seemed to go straight to his groin, the aphrodisiac smell that turned his brain to mush. He was cumming all over Sephiroth's hand, much too soon for his liking, crying out and moaning loudly in pleasure, muscles contracting as he continued to writhe beneath Sephiroth, but even when the swordsmen removed his hands, Vincent remained hard, a stubborn arousal that didn't want to die so quickly. Smirking, Sephiroth laughed, sitting back to undo his own pants, taking out his own leaking member to stroke himself, half veiled ruby eyes watching avidly; shamelessly, fingers twitching. Moaning, Vincent's mouth was covered with heated lips, eagerly accepting the tongue that snaked in, a wet appendage that roamed his mouth and practically into his throat before lips moved down to nip at the pale skin of an exposed neck.

 

Whimpering, Vincent's head rolled to the side, body arching and attempting to move against the warm digit pressed to his slick entrance, and when Sephiroth did enter him, with little preparation aside from his fingering, the flare of pain didn't seem to matter in the least. Pulling off the bed as much as his bindings would allow, Vincent's muscles were taunt, Sephiroth grunting and biting back a sadistic groan.

 

“Not too hard Vincent. I need this to stay intact.” Voice breathless, he patted a pale thigh, waiting for Vincent to let up his death grip before pushing all the way in. Panting and twitching with spasms of pleasure, wet hot disarray still covering his stomach, Vincent whined when Sephiroth pressed against him, strong hands pushing his thighs apart. Not bothering to wait for the brunette to adjust, not thinking he'd mind too much, the swordsmen began to pump into him, a little slow at first with the resistance, Vincent crying out until he was a moaning mess sprawled across the bed, jostled harshly as he was thrust heavily into. He tensed, gasping for breath, hands fighting to free themselves from their bonds and fist silver hair. Grunting and groaning, Sephiroth murmured threats and obscenities against a slender neck, biting every so often to leave a vicious red mark. He could feel the vibration of Vincent's girlish moans against his lips, the hot slick trickles of bodily fluids continuously seeping from the incoherently pleasured man below him, crying out and arching in orgasm.

 

Thrusting deeply and heavily tempted to cum as well, Sephiroth fought back the wild urge, pulling out, his arousal red and swollen, begging for attention. Instead, he teased the head over Vincent's loosened and abused entrance, making him wiggle and moan, frustrated tears rolling down soft flushed cheeks. Vincent couldn't stand the overwhelming pleasure, reducing him to fits of tension and moans and ejaculating over his belly, painting himself. He gasped, breathing heavily, taking a short moment's rest while Sephiroth only teased him. Pushed up and flipped over to his knees, the bonds bit a little more into his skin, but when Sephiroth rammed into him, filling him again, he forgot about the fiery pinching to his wrists. Vision spinning, semen dripping onto his blankets, the swordsman spread his legs at a lower angle, thrusting into him in a new frenzy to pound away as harshly and unmercifully as he could manage before he came. Sephiroth managed to get quite a ways too, springing Vincent's nether regions to attention with a few well aimed thrusts. Pressed deeply into him, Sephiroth gripped the other's ass tightly where he held him, cheeks pushed apart for better access and more vulnerability. Sephiroth ground against him as he came, shuddering and rubbing against sweat layered white skin, Vincent moaning softly before giving up on his voice, prostrated on his elbows with his head hung, breathing heavily and staining his blankets even more.

 

By the time Sephiroth had enjoyed a long moment of pleasure, milking himself inside Vincent, the ex Turk was still contracted, body trembling and not wanting to give up. If ever a person had contained that much cum inside himself, Sephiroth was sure it would have driven anyone to an insane pleasurable bliss. Controlling Vincent and pressing him against the warm puddle seeping into his blankets, it seemed to trigger another bout of soft whimpers and spasming. When Sephiroth had pulled out, content for now and willing to save another round of coupling for later, he flipped Vincent back over so the chord wasn't cutting into him as much. At least now Vincent's stiffness was fading, eyelids heavy, chest heaving. He was quite the mess, but it made him look sexy, and so, laughing softly, Sephiroth smeared the still hot ejaculation on the other's stomach, making him twitch and whine in protest, eyes closed, fluttering open to see the swordsman licking his fingers clean. Trailing a still tainted digit over Vincent's lower lip, the swordsman groaned when a tongue flicked out to taste his own essence.

 

Sephiroth had a feeling it would a very long enjoyable night, even if it was more than half over already.

 

 

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He had taken Vincent three times that night, once more when it was still dark, after a short rest, leaving the ex Turk a complete mess, and he had taken him again that early morning. Both times Sephiroth had left to clean himself while Vincent was still twisted with absolute pleasure, his own gun used to fill the place of Sephiroth's absence. The darkling had been tied up all night, moaning loudly when he couldn't help it, reduced to panting when he wasn't crying in bliss to save his voice. It was insanely intense every time, and certainly nothing he had ever been through before, but he didn't know if it was a bad thing or an incredibly good thing. When Sephiroth's head was between his legs, once in foreplay, and once while Vincent was quieted with the younger man's own arousal filling his throat, he figured it was a good thing, especially when he was free to moan and swear loudly with Sephiroth's lips expertly teasing him and bringing him off. Sleeping inbetween the silver haired man's bouts of serious romping, Vincent was still utterly exhausted when he was finally left to himself, Sephiroth leaning against the wall and calmly watching him, now fully clothed.

 

Vincent was bathed in both of their body's fluids, but he was knocked out, later arriving to work hours late with a very noticeable limp. Throwing a towel over the sleeping form, the larger man leaned over him, kissing him softly at the corners of his mouth, the smell of sex incredibly strong, musky but perversely pleasing. Vincent had tasted good, even despite the muskiness now permeating the entire room. Brushing back damp black hair, the bottle of oil nearly gone, he smiled faintly, smirking and knowing Vincent would be his. He would remember this night, and there was no way he could deny the pleasure. Catching the peek of red eyes glowing behind dusty lashes as he untied Vincent's wrists at last, the vampire managed to rest a hand on his shoulder, looking oddly innocent and inquisitive, as though asking why he was leaving. Removing the cold pale hand, Sephiroth only raised his brows in amusement, and as he turned to leave, he drew forth something from the inside of his jacket, tossing it over the towel. It was Vincent's red headband.

 

 

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Managing to get up a few hours past noon, Vincent couldn't imagine the mess he had made, considering nearly all of it was his own fault. Though the whitish liquid smeared over his belly and chest and thighs was cold, it had hardly dried at all, tickling his skin and making him feel dirty, though oddly content as he stepped into his bathtub, pulling the curtain shut and turning on the shower. After a long warm shower, he clothed himself, armed with his gun just in case, and stepped out into the cool early spring air.  Headed to work at a brisk pace, his stomach growled and bothered him until he was tempted to swerve to the crossing in order to stop by the small grungy café across the street.  At least had decent food, or more so in the way of pastries and sandwiches.  Slapping some precious change on the counter, he ordered a ham sandwich and a coffee to go, which ended up being half consumed by the time he had left the café, crossed the street and headed down a few buildings to The Lady's Bug. 

 

Walking in, he found Ms. Barbara sitting his normal chair with her feet up.  At least when he was walking and in a hurry he had forgotten about the pain in his lower areas but when he stopped and stood there—especially after his brisk and hurried walk—it stung quite a bit.  What else did he expect though? Raising thin brows, she smiled at him as she took a drag from her cigarette, taking her feet down from the desk.

 

“If we were busier in the mornings I mighta scolded ya. But I can also see you're limpin'.” Unable to help a grin as tendrils of smoke escaped, she exhaled in a long puff. “Just be careful how ya sit darlin'.” Patting him good naturedly and apparently aware of something that had been up, she let it go. Vincent was usually early anyway, and he'd done well in his job, so Ms. Barbara wasn't too concerned that he was late, as long as he wasn't raped, but that didn't appear to be the case. Surely he could fend of someone who might have mistaken him for a beautiful, slender and broad shouldered woman. Carefully sitting in his chair, glad it was padded, he winced. It would be a long day, but he'd have time to think. Sephiroth was back, and quite apparently knew where he had lived. There was definitely something going on, as he expected, and he was sure the swordsman had something to do with it. Was Hojo behind it? Probably, and if he was using Sephiroth…. No, it would have to be the other way around. Sephiroth wouldn't let that greasy scientist boss him around for his own sake.

 

Pondering as he turned on the old computer, Lizzy, Alexandra, and Laura wandering down to say hi to him, out to lunch and wonder if he wanted anything, but he indicated that he was fine with his cup and mostly eaten sandwich, despite Laura's insistence. Thinking as he nibbled he attempted to recount all the events centered around Sephiroth, and though his memory was a little vague, he could remember that ever since the silver haired man started bothering him oh so long ago, that things hadn't been going to well, he'd gotten sick, and more recently, hornier than a rabbit in heat, which meant he was surely slipped something. There were plenty of opportunities, the several times Sephiroth had made tea, and even though some times seem inconsistent, he was finding him ways to give him something, but what was it and why? He would come and leave also, instead of staying and keeping the brunette in one play to toy with him. So maybe this wasn't just a game. It probably was a full experiment and he was the guinea pig. Frowning deeply, he thickly swallowed the rest of his ham sandwich, chasing it down with his coffee before grabbing one of the profiles in his tray and opening it, disgruntled.

 

It was about a girl named Kierra that had interest in starting a job at The Lady's Bug, but it was Vincent's job to make sure he new all the background he could on her. Sighing softly and deciding to think about the rest of his problems in his free time, he turned to his computer, clicked the mouse and began searching on his network.

 

 

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It had been a couple days after his last incident with Sephiroth and he wasn't limping so badly anymore, which was good for several reasons. Some of the girls, including Ms. Barbara made fun of him for it, teasing him and asking him questions he refused to answer, changing the subject or trying politely to ignore them. After he adamantly retained a cold shoulder for the better part of a day they ceased their talk and comments for the most part, but still liked to tease him. It was all in good nature, but it was embarrassing enough, even without them teasing him. It was mid afternoon, about the time when it started to get a little busier, usually, when in came someone he was leery to see.

 

“Evening, Vincent.”

 

“Adrian.” He never had quite gotten around to a formal greeting, but at least they were on better terms. Through the glass of the door, the evening had descended, the nights cooler than the warming days outside.

 

“Vincent,” the younger man began as he leaned against the counter, blue eyes searching a ruby red. “Can I ask a favor of you?” Looking rather hopeful, he waited until Vincent stopped rifling through papers to look up at him, regarding him with a look that said he had his attention for the moment.

 

“I wanted to talk to you, since it has been awhile. If you don't mind, maybe we can go for a walk later? Have dinner?” There was a giggle from up the stairs where Laura sat, having come back from her venturing out earlier in the day. She now sat, waiting for someone to pick her up to take her out, so she was prettied up with painted pink nails, hair pinned up, wearing a mini skirt like a school girl. She looked cute, younger, as she covered her giggle up at Vincent. Smiling, though Adrian mistook it in response to his request, he nodded.

 

“Can I pick you up later?” Sighing, face falling, Vincent didn't hide his dismay, but nodded. At least he could be polite for what Adrian had done in the past, despite not all of it being approved of or encouragement worthy.

 

“Unless it's a very early dinner like two hours ago, it would have to be breakfast…… You should know a place like this gets busier in the evenings.” The ex Turk's faint frown was disapproving, but in return, Adrian only grinned sheepishly, Laura getting another giggling fit.

 

“Yeah, sorry. Then tomorrow? Can I find you early in the morning sometime? Breakfast or brunch instead?” Snorting, the blonde girl called her favor in a crooning voice.

 

“Awwww! Vincent! That's so sweet! Hey, bring me back a muffin please? Please?” Laughing softly, Adrian turned to regard the girl sitting near the middle of the steps.

 

“Sure thing.” Squealing and clapping, the door opened with the man she'd been waiting for, rushing down to meet in, and eliciting another happy squeal as she fled to his side, winking at Vincent.

 

“Remember to play nice!” Laura chirped, ushering the slightly confused young man back out into the cool evening.

 

“What's this about Adrian?” Vincent asked in a low voice. He didn't mind someone else paying for his meal, but he was still wary. Smiling softly, a bit sadly, Adrian leaned back against the counter, his voice as gentle as Vincent's was cautious.

 

“I wanted to talk to you. I want to know how you're doing, what's been up. I tend bar, but I've been looking for a second job to make more. I think I found something you might like, it's very flexible, but I'm not really the right kind of man to do it. If you're not interested that's fine,” he hastily added as Vincent opened his mouth, pausing his interruption with a hand. “But it would be nice to have a decent conversation over a meal wouldn't it? I know you might not still be over the past….. but it has been months. I won't make a habit out of it, I promise.

 

Sitting back in his chair and sighing, he rubbed his temples.

 

“Fine. I'll meet you at the café across the street around…..8:30 tomorrow morning?” Adrian's face broke into a wide grin as he nodded, his response cut off by the shriek of two girls running down the hall, one chasing the other, both half devoid of clothes and grinning. Turning back to his computer and his game of cards he considered the conversation all said and done.

 

“Thank you, Vincent. Have a good night.” Nodding absently, he played a full house, finally catching up to second place. As the ex Turk's former boss left, he smirked, his back turned, the door closing softly behind him. Upstairs Amy started bellowing at the two to quit the racket while she was trying to concentrate.

 

 

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It was morning, an early hour Vincent usually only saw nowadays when he stayed up with a busy house, because the other person working desk had something with their other job or whatever else came up now and again. The sun was already bright, the day already warming, and he was still waking up at a quarter to nine, forgetting where he was headed so early, but when Adrian approached him to cross the street and take him into the café, he remembered why he wanted to forget. So they would get breakfast and talk. That was the plan, but after having tried letting his guard down and no longer trusting even himself, he carried his gun with him everywhere now. He'd have his claw equipped also, but it didn't suit him too well with his job, however, on days off he usually wore it. Entering the café he'd gotten coffee at a number of times, when it was ideal and he had change to spare, he ordered a drink, and since Adrian insisted on paying—considering he was the one that had asked Vincent out in the first place—he opted for food as well.

 

Once they were served and seated at a small booth, Adrian smiled brightly.

 

“It's good to see you're doing well. You live just down the street right?” Vincent nodded absently as the strong aroma of black coffee assaulted his senses. Stirring in creamer and sugar, it was a luxury he still wasn't used to, but it was appreciated now and again. Blue eyes grew serious a moment.

 

“I saw that man who attacked me… when I was at your apartment…” he began, uncomfortable and the reminiscence of what had happened. “He was leaving the complex. Are things okay with you?” Drinking his own coffee, he looked worriedly for an answer first, then, he'd attend to his sausage biscuit. Despite Vincent's first thought of why Adrian was watching his apartment, it seemed more likely that he was only passing by. Sephiroth had left in broad daylight, so more people would have been out and about then, especially by mid morning. Dismissing it as nothing too unusually, but keeping it in mind, he only shrugged.

 

“I guess they're fine. No turbulence for returning my headband, even if it did take him awhile.”

 

The answer seemed good enough for Adrian, so he relaxed. But why would Adrian be so tense, if he was nothing more than an acquaintance? He was his last boss, but he no obligations to make sure he was fit for a job he was no longer attending. They might have been on decent terms but they most certainly weren't buddy-buddy; Adrian seemed to be an enigma since he fit no logical sense. People were different, but even for living in a place like the slums he was definitely one of a kind—although by no means necessarily a good thing. Cutting his biscuit in half, Adrian nibbled, watching Vincent curiously as he carefully rolled his pancake up to eat with his fingers, eliciting another smile from the brown haired younger man.

 

“How long have you been working at The Lady's Bug? It's been a pretty good while now, hasn't it?” Vincent nodded, not seeing the need to supply more than a terse reply.

 

“I told you when you first saw me it had been a couple months.” Adrian seemed to have forgotten that he had asked the first time he saw him there, more wrapped up in wanting to make conversation that really paying attention to his words.

 

“Well, is it something you enjoy doing? Or is it just to get by?” Vincent thought about it. It was both, at some times, more of one than the other.

 

“Both. If I could find a higher paying job I didn't mind doing, I'd take that one, obviously. But I don't generally mind.” Adrian nodded his approval, not that the ex Turk needed it.

 

“It's a very prosperous house. If you had a lot of richer people coming in, you'd have an awesome place.” He stuffed a piece of biscuit in his mouth as Vincent finished his pancake, drinking his coffee before he spoke again.

 

“Perhaps. I'm not sure Ms. Barbara wants it to get that big and public. It's a well known place but if it gets too big and expeditious, it'd probably be worse off. We'd have to take care of more, then only higher paying customers would be able to afford our ladies, and we'd lose respect from a lot of our lower paying though frequent customers.” Adrian mulled it over then sighed softly.

 

“That is true. Ms. Barbara's a very smart and respectable woman. She's made a lot of people happier and a lot of lives more manageable.” Nodding his agreement, they continued their breakfast in silence for a few long moments.

 

“You said something about a job?” Although he wasn't too keen on considering another job, since he had one that kept him busy and paid decently, he'd at least listen to what kind of offer it was. Maybe in the future he could use it.

 

“Ah, yes!” Adrian wet his mouth and swallowed before settling in his chair better and leaning forward slightly to talk as Vincent began rolling up another pancake.

 

“There's an older man, fit enough not to be elderly, who's very wealthy. He has a large estate, living on another continent, but as of late he's been looking for a good body guard. Mr. Wincocks is his name, and in his years, he's afraid that the people he's hired to take care of his house and garden have been stealing from him, and surely they have. He wants someone he can trust to protect him and his belongings, but he'd like to talk to anyone interested, first.” Adrian paused while looking Vincent's over for a response, and all he got was another missing bite from a pancake. The ex Turk's silence bid him continue. “Mr. Wincocks is sure at some point things might get dirty for him, that he'll be in a bind where he'll lose everything at the cost of his life, and for an elderly man, it's not exactly ideal for him to live his last years with absolutely nothing.” Frowning slightly, the brunette lowered his gaze. He and Vincent both knew how that could be. Playing with the last half of his biscuit, he took another bite, finished talking for now.

 

“And you've told him about me?” Vincent inquired, not sure how he wanted to act or what to feel, so he remained stolid, his expression only ponderous.

 

“Yes,” the former employer answered with a nod. “You're an ex Turk. You used to work for ShinRa. You're lucky that you've made it, since all others are either unfit because they were never Turks, or they're dead because they <i>were</i> Turks.” Vincent was silent again, nibbling his pancake as he sat back, legs to one side.

 

“And you think I'll have a better chance because I'm a living ex Turk?” In a manner of speaking, he added in his head. If this Mr. Wincocks found out he wasn't entirely human, he probably would fear for his own life, but even Adrian didn't know that. Thankfully Vincent hadn't been forced to transform into anything for awhile. He had been able to feel free for quite some time, but was that going end? Again, the brunette nodded in reply.

 

“Yes. You have the training. You know what loyalty really is, unlike some of these thugs on the streets who would sooner kill him for his money than wait for their pay.”

 

“And you're sure I wouldn't do the same?” The other's smile was bittersweet.

 

“You don't seem the money hungry kind. Of course others might not suspect that, but you've definitely got a better chance than probably anyone else. Think about it for as long as you need to. I should be stopping by The Lady's Bug every so often.” Although that thought almost made Vincent cringe, he refrained, but at least the offer for the job wasn't quite what he was expecting. He was glad to hear it was more along his own lines of previous work, but no matter how good he still was, he wasn't sure he wanted to do that kind of stuff again, especially for someone off the streets, just a regular old guy with a lot of gil.

 

“We'll see.” Finishing his other pancake, he drank from his cup of coffee again. Smiling softly, clearly pleased that he may have been helping Vincent out, Adrian finished his sausage biscuit as well, then his coffee.

 

“Well, whenever you're done, we can walk and enjoy the weather.” Vincent didn't remembering asking for a walk, but then again he didn't ask to be sitting in a café eating pancakes and talking to the one guy he was relieved to avoid. Once they had finished, they were out in the cool morning air, walking side by side down the street with Adrian talking, sometimes eliciting an answer from Vincent, though seldom. The vampire wasn't much of a talker, and he was fine to let Adrian chatter away as much as he liked. After walking a block with slushy piles of snow that were ever melting, they were walking through what could be considered a junk yard, and to many others, a home, when Vincent began to feel uneasy. It wasn't the food he'd eaten, and he doubted it was a side effect of the oil Sephiroth had administered to him all night long. No, this was a gut instinct and it was telling him something was wrong. There was danger in this junk yard, but he wasn't sure what. On his guard, he glanced up to Adrian who hadn't seemed to notice, commenting on the weather. The more they walked through the junk yard, though they were skirting the premises, the more uneasy Vincent grew, until he stopped walking. Halting abruptly, Adrian turned to look, questioning.

 

About to ask Vincent what was wrong, he had to applaud the fact of how fast he was. Adrian was out of the way for a clear shot, but when Vincent twirled in front of him to avoid the first dart, he caught an unanticipated second. Yanking the black feathered dart out almost as soon as it hit him, it wouldn't have mattered; the serum it was dipped in was potent to knock him out in only a moment, and his limbs were already feeling heavy. Confused, he turned, wobbling to get some idea of who had shot him, but despite his will to stay awake and fight, his body wouldn't comply, his brain shutting down and setting him to sleep. Crumpling to the fall, a smirking Adrian caught him, slowly letting him down to the floor as he kneeled. A sleeping Vincent, though slightly troubled was beautiful. Lightly touching his face, he wasn't sure he wanted to give him up, but then there was also the money to think about. He could buy his own women or beautiful men, though he doubted any could quite compare to soft pale features, a dark shock of hair and mesmerizing ruby eyes.

 

It was almost sad to think that things like these were the reason Vincent hid in the dark, reluctant to trust anyone. Brushing back black hair, Adrian felt the edge of doubt. Maybe he could play it off that his cronies had been the ones to shoot him down and that he was innocent. He never planned to see Vincent after handing him over to Mr. Wincocks, but even so, the ebony haired angel could surely be vengeful enough find him no matter where he was and kill him or torture him or black mail him or whatever else. It was rather adorable that he might. As the two largely built men stepped forward, guns strapped to their backs, Adrian looked up, blue eyes narrowed. Kissing pale lips, he remembered the night in Vincent's bedroom. Yes, Mr. Wincock would surely like him quite well. Sighing as he stood, brushing himself off, the dark skinned man threw a limp Vincent over his shoulder.

 

“It's done then.” The other man, a white guy with dark shades nodded to Adrian.

 

“And you'll get your other half of the pay just as soon as I withdraw the money,” Adrian said. He'd accompany Vincent on the ship and deliver him to his buyer. He was certain everything would go well.

 

 

************************

 

 

Vincent awoke, his head hurting with a headache. His wrists were sore, his hands cold, but they were bound together with leather clamps, chained together with a single link behind his back, attached to the wall of the ship behind him. The nightling was in the cargo hold, and it was dark, a solitary candle the only source of light, and there across from him was Adrian, sitting on a crate and watching him with interest. Vincent's first reaction was a surge of anger and hate, and it flashed across his eyes, but he only turned his face aside, his hair a dark shield as he closed his eyes. His neck was sore from being knocked out and sleeping so awkwardly. There wasn't too much he could do, his legs also bound at the ankles, but once he was loose he would see what he could do. He would escape. He didn't know just yet if he'd pay Adrian back for it. Initially he wanted to, and something inside him liked that idea, but either apathy or the exhaustion of having up put up with so much quelled him into a passive state, and he merely sat there, the water churning below them, beneath the small ship.

 

“Vincent,” his name was softly called, but he didn't look up. Although it sounded tender and gentle—even concerned, he knew Adrian was nothing more than a good actor and a backstabbing bastard greedy for money. He didn't entirely blame him for wanting money. Their lives sucked, no matter what part of Midgar they lived in, no matter what they did. Even being a Turk wasn't all it was made out to be, and though the expenses made for a comfortable living, they never got a vacation. The best Turks could savor was a decent meal and the hope of getting their work done early.

 

“Vincent…..” Head on his shoulder, he didn't bother listening for if anything else was said or not. What would it matter? What did Adrian have to say to him? Was he going to apologize or rub it in his face?

 

“Vincent.” The voice was closer, almost a whisper in his ear, and when he looked up, Adrian was only inches from his face. He glared.

 

“Is this your way of doing things? Make friends with them and use them, then sell them off to old men?” he spat. Adrian didn't flinch though, unyielding. He was cruel. He'd done this many times before, and Vincent could tell. He wanted to strangle the brunette for that calm tender voice he used. Adrian wasn't worried. He didn't care.

 

“Do you want me to undo your arms?”

 

Vincent's gaze faintly softened, but he looked away, his venom back in his eyes. Why? Why was it always him? Every time he tried to get out an associate with people, someone did something to chase him away and prove that he couldn't trust people. Was it because he wasn't fully human? Or was it something else. Not answering Adrian, he let him carefully undo his arms anyway, flexing his fingers before punching him—hard. Sprawled backwards with bruised jaw, maybe fractured or a few loose teeth, Adrian looked hardly phased. He seemed to have been expecting it, and he accepted it. He knew trying to make Vincent a little more comfortable was risky, and that he was apt to be violent. Who wouldn't? He also had several injections of tranquilizer just in case. Sitting on the cold floor, legs under him and leaning on the box, Adrian watched Vincent. Vincent's hands had been freed, but why?

 

“Can I talk to you?” the brunette asked, voice tinged with pain from having to move his lower jaw.

 

“A little late for that, isn't it?” Vincent opted for vehemence instead of a cold silent glare.

 

Regardless of trying to be a bit nicer to Vincent, he wanted to get his gil and hoped the other would escape, and with Vincent being stubborn, he was sure it would probably work out that way; even if he tried to make amends with him so Vincent would't kill him or send someone else to, it might not even matter in the end.

 

“Good luck.” It was a slightly bitter sentiment, but it was more or less meant well. Still glaring, Vincent finally turned away in disgust and despair. Remembering his gun, he silently checked for it. It was gone. Adrian had it. It had been sitting on the box by the candle, a dark spot in a shadow. Adrian caught the look.

 

“If you cooperate, I had plans to return it to you when Mr. Wincocks took you,” he said, still bitter, and he was being truthful. “I need the money, but I'm still hoping for the best.” Unfortunately Vincent understood the predicament Adrian was in. He might be able to pay to go somewhere else, but then he'd be broke and living on the streets until he could make more money, and that wasn't guaranteed. And so, he would spend gil on things he could enjoy, cheaper things that would make life in Midgar easier.

 

Vincent hadn't been knocked out more than a couple of hours, considering he hadn't had much of a dose of tranquilizer, as potent as it had been—he could have been out for a good day straight.  Thinking about it, Adrian seemed to have a new respect for the other man, almost an adoration for his deadly beauty.  Mr. Wincocks could have a thing for fighters; he liked submission and he liked taming his subjects, but if it was a spirit that couldn't be broken, he'd come calling at Adrian's door.  Mr. Wincocks preferred the calm and passive beauties who would willingly do anything for him, something Vincent surely was not, a breed Adrian much preferred.  The brunette liked to be gentle with hands, but with his toys he could be harsh.  Pain wasn't really a bad thing at all, and even the danger of being severely injured or possible killed was a thrill.  He didn't want to die, but he'd prefer a slow death where he could wallow in the beauty of such a dangerous rose.  Although he'd saved Vincent from it in the bed before, he wanted to really take him again, and he did have a few toys in his bag.  Maybe he should have kept his wrists bound and undid his feet.  Adrian contemplated how he'd request such a dubious deed, and was sure he'd be rejected.

 

Sitting and watching Vincent for a moment longer, he decided to approach. He didn't think it would end up too good and it certainly wouldn't be very easy, but he wanted to at least try. After seeing a very small sample of how well his ex employee could fight, he was more than sure he had a decent change of winding up dead and food for the ship rats, but even so, at least he could say he tried. Part of it was perhaps the need to feel like he had more control of himself and the other if he could dominate Vincent while he wasn't as defenseless. That or he would just be a very good sweet talker or a tramp, and even if he was forced to stick Vincent with another paralyzing agent or tranquilizer, he still wanted to touch him—albeit if it was a tranquilizer he would just tie him up and wait for him to wake. On hands and knees he softly approached, Vincent eyeing him with evident hatred. Holding up his hands to show he was defenseless, Vincent just rolled his eyes, but really it was more a universal sign than Adrian trying to be dishonest.

 

Reaching out a hand, he attempted to soothe the untamed brunette with his voice.

 

“Vincent….” It was a pleading murmur. Although the brunt of his intentions were selfish—as most humans tended to be—there was a glimmer of true comfort and good in his touches. Adrian gently brushed the chains on his legs and Vincent drew back as much as they would allow, until the metal cut into his skin.

 

“Don't hurt yourself. Vincent….. I know you understand how hard life is and how much better it could be—” he was cut off with a savage reply.

 

“Without vermin like you!” Vincent spat the words like they were poison on his tongue.

 

“Do you need my motive? Or have you given up caring? Please, let me explain.”

 

“I will not be the scapegoat for your guilty conscious! I don't care how you rationalize, but your crime will not go unpaid.” Vincent glared with death illuminating his red eyes. Adrian wanted to back off in fear for his life, but the thrill of being able to calm and tame the wild man before him was too tempted.

 

That was why I was so drawn to Vincent, he reasoned. He's so dangerously beautiful and I've done such blasphemous deeds that I can't possibly turn back now. Vincent…. I wouldn't mind utterly dominating you, but let me show your trembling figure how sweet it is to be touched. He's seen rough days. He looks like he's been abused, this young beauty. Almost a shame I couldn't bare witness… Blue eyes glowed as he moved closer. Vincent's fingers flexed, ready to strike, but not unless he had to; he didn't need to waste his energy when it wasn't needed.

 

“Vincent,” Adrian breathed, coming closer, but the sudden change was inquisitive. What had come over this man? He looked nearly bestial, but it was a strange, the way he might look at a loyal pet that he expected no less than his perfect obedience from. Vincent's slight hesitation gave Adrian the opening he need. Slipping up beside the lithe and darkly clad form, the brunette caressed his cheek. His fingers were cool, and the motion alone made Vincent draw back instinctively in distrust.

 

“So beautiful….the harm….” The ex employer murmured to himself. But for whatever reason, Vincent's rage had drained. It reminded him of being around only one other man. Sure, the ex Turk could lash out in rage, but when shown strong dominance, he would fall to his knees in despair and weakness. Hojo had taught him that vile trick, and it proved true under Sephiroth as well, and now Adrian, it seemed.

 

Would Vincent continue to act this way towards any man that threatened him like that? Any man that held his own? Any perverted sadistic bastard that came along deciding to show them who was boss? Women, it seemed he could handle. He wouldn't yield to them. Turn then away, perhaps, but why only men? Hojo…. He blamed everything on that man. Everything! Wallowing in his own self loathing and the hatred for that dirty scientist, he hardly noticed Adrian as he continued to caress his cheek with a firm palm, before running ticklish fingers down his neck.

 

“As white and cold as your skin looks, it's very warm. You're so deceiving.” Adrian murmured pleasingly in his ear, but Vincent only withdrew deeper into himself. It seemed a wonder the way a body worked to avoid abuse and violence. Once it had learned what to expect, it could shut down the brain, or parts of the brain, it could numb his feels—emotionally and physically. But even so, the deathblow never rained down. Vincent wasn't felt up or groped through his clothes. He wasn't forced into a kiss he didn't want to share.

 

Instead a head lay gently on his shoulder, an arm about his waist while his other hand gentle took one of Vincent's reluctant own. Adrian played with pale fingers, marveled at how smooth they were, like the rest of his porcelain skin, how they could bend and stretch. He tickled the other's palm and made his fingers twitch. He seemed sweet, but Vincent would not be deceived. He would not let himself be taken down and falsely played with again. Even when Adrian was silently reveling in the warmth of being close to the other's body, even when he was enjoying a fantasy of playing with Vincent, his nature wasn't to be considerably rough. Adrian really was silently rooting for Vincent. After all, this dark mysterious man was an abused kitten who just needed to be pampered and shown some love. Given a chance, he probably wouldn't mind staying at Adrian's abode to entertain him. He was the crème of the crop, after all, and even after years of play, entertainment most certainly wouldn't get old. It was rare that anyone would be spoken or thought of that fondly, not in the harem and bride business Adrian ran, anyway.

 

 

************************

 

 

It was morning, by the early rays of grey sunshine shining through the small windows. A fog rolled over the sea, and it was slower going, but they'd dock by noon. Vincent lay in Adrian's lap, his head on his belly in fever. His shirt had been pushed up to reveal a trembling, milky body, slick with sweat. Adrian stroked black hair lovingly, bangs out of the other's eyes as he breathed heavily. Adrian was feeling a bit off himself, but all that Vincent had been through had sure upset him. His sedentary life at the whorehouse had left him atrophied, in more ways than one, and the rapid changes in the past couple days had overly stressed him. Everything that had happened was a vague blur. Adrian had spoken softly to him, until he seemed calm and had fallen asleep, and then the chance was taken to transfer him to his lap. The brunette continued to talk to the vampire as the night wore on, fingers tenderly stroking smooth skin. Down the midline of his chest, following a thin scar; back up to his chin; down his throat, the circulation of his caresses didn't cease, though they were slow in their lazy reverie.

 

          & nbsp; Vincent was only half aware of what was going on, his feverish state blurring his perception and memory.  Eyes closed, lips trembling, he could feel cool fingers on him making him shiver, but he did not know to whom they belonged or why they were touching him, except that it was a welcomed feeling to his heated body.  The ship churned onward, headed towards the docking bay, still hours, and the man Adrian was selling Vincent to—Mr. Wincocks—would send an escort to pick them up at Costa Del Sol.  But Adrian was contemplating ways to keep the dark angel to himself.  He had thought before that it would be a shame to lose him, especially after the trouble of winning back some of his trust, but even so, he had struck the deal and decided the excessive amount of money would be worth it.  However, to add such a delectable beauty to his harem had to be worth more than that.  To keep a person that would entertain him, if only by simply being beautiful, had to be worth more than the couple hundred thousand he was collecting in return for his trade.

 

As the morning began to wear on, however, Adrian was forced to bind Vincent's hands to the ship once more, before his fever wore off. He seemed to have sweat it out, but he would need fluids, and probably something to eat, considering the rough night. Shifting, Adrian promised he'd be back soon as Vincent lay limply on the storage room's floor. The candle had burned out, his gun had been taken with Adrian, but after a short while, the brunette returned with a full belly and something to take care of Vincent. With a glass of cool water held carefully in one hand, a breakfast of fruit and whipped yogurt filled pancake rolled like crepe's, the younger man carefully held the cup to Vincent's lips. Still a little shaky, the ebony haired angel gratefully sipped the water. He was weakened and in no shape to fight, but it seemed his ex boss was enjoying tending to him more. He seemed sweet, and he was gentle, but it was still annoying.

 

“Why won't you untie me?” he asked, then added at length, “I won't misbehave.” Though he could have lashed out when chances were given, he knew he should wait until a better chance presented itself. If he got in too deep, there may be no hope, but he was willing to take that gamble.

 

“Hmm?” Adrian was more focused on coaxing Vincent to drink more water.

 

When he complied, he looked back up into blue eyes, expecting an answer.

 

“We'll be docking in another couple hours,” Adrian said quietly, wiping a trickle of water away with his thumb. He looked apprehensive. “We should be meeting a couple of Mr. Wincocks' agents there, and we'll travel by car from there. It'll be bumpy, but not too bad. He'll treat you nicely, so long as you do as he asks.” Was Adrian drilling him on what to expect? Just how well did he know this man?

 

“I'll still keep the lodge open to you, if you decide to come back to Midgar. I'm not asking for forgiveness, but as tough and as intelligent as you are, escaping and returning while shaking them off shouldn't be a problem.”

 

“So much for being a body guard huh?” The brunette smiled bitterly.

 

“That will be part of it yes.” He sighed, offering Vincent part of the pancake, yogurt getting on his fingers. “Knowing you, I doubt you'd want to comply to all his wishes though.”

 

“Why did you knock me out and then let me know everything?” he inquired, reluctantly taking the pancake because he knew he'd need his strength. Adrian shrugged.

 

“I guess because I care a little more for you than I thought I would; more than just simple attraction or lust. And because, although the idea was presented to you, that didn't mean you'd take it, especially right away. Mr. Wincocks is patient, but he has been waiting awhile. Deadlines were coming and there would have been my chance for a good bit of money.” Waiting for Vincent to chew and swallow, he proceeded. “It was mostly because of time. I was given a deadline and told to either make it or answer to Mr. Wincocks. He gave me a small down payment, and I didn't have the money to refund. So… here we are.” Looking around the cargo hold, Adrian shrugged again, letting Vincent finish the pancake and fruit in silence. Licking his lips, he finished the water.

 

The ex Turk heard his motive, and understood needing the gil. It was Adrian's business, though he couldn't be overly upset. Vincent was more upset at the fact that he had been used by Adrian and played. The subtle hints were there. The brunette had gotten close to the vampire to see how good he'd be as a perverted man's plaything, and though a man like Mr. Wincocks might have a harem, who was to say he couldn't have a pretty man to do his dirty work and have some fun too? It was a disgusting thought, and he refused to deal with anything he didn't agree with. Surely he wouldn't get paid though—not if he was living in the house and that was fine. It was a white lie, and including the assumption on the kind of man this person was into the calculation, things for Vincent didn't look too great. He would escape.

 

 

************************

 

 

Costa Del Sol had been obscenely bright, but it gave Vincent a chance to regain his legs and get some fresh air. The cargo hold was no place to keep a person. He was also allowed back the use of his arms and legs, but it wasn't until they were in the nice leather car and were almost to a large mountains nestled in the hills around Nibelheim, not far from Rocket Town. The trip had taken awhile and the sun was setting by the time they had pulled up the twisting driveway, a butler waiting for them after another call from their agents. The two agents got out, more like bodyguards, well toned, but slim and agile enough, instead of the beefy body builders who couldn't move because of the size of their muscles impeding their flexibility. Vincent stepped out, a little wobbly since he hadn't been on his legs all day, but the fresh breeze was nice. The climate was warm, though cool as the sun set, since it was near the mountains, but because of the hemisphere it was more into spring already.

 

“Ahh! It's good to be able to stretch,” Adrian commented as he slid out of the car on the other side, stretching as he rounded the sleek black car, joining Vincent and the two others.

 

“Mr. Wincocks will be out in a moment,” the butler said, his hair smoothed back, though he was balding quite nicely on the top. Turning curtly, the agents nodded. “Please follow!” Ushered along, not that Vincent needed to, he took in his surroundings, absorbing them and trying to remember them as best as he possibly could. He might need any small detail at any point later, especially if it could help. It was a large three story mansion, a pristine white, with a balcony on the second floor, a peek of terrace intimating from the expansive backyard. The windows were in a French style, intricately carved with flowers on the frames and sheltered with a half dome top, but the gabled roof clashed with sharp angles. Overall, it looked nice, not overly rich, but definitely not a place he would see for… well, how many miles were they from Midgar now?

 

Shrubbery lined the skirts of the house, and trellises of ivy with small buds of some kind of flower on either side of the mansion; several sweeping willows were situated in the front yard as well as one in the back, thuja green giants the only other trees lining the edges of the property for privacy, like a great emerald wall, though no one was around for miles. The door was heavy oak, set deeply with glass, carved and warped like nymphs, leaves and wild fruit. Up the cobbled steps to the front door they were led, through the fairly heavy door and into the foyer, a waiting room with an exquisite rug, expensively upholstered couches facing either other, quaint little tables, one with a phone, the other with a pitcher of iced water. Several paintings hung on the sponge painted walls. It was all very nicely done, and though the room wasn't small, there wasn't much to be seen past that. The stairs were to their left and right on the other side of the wall, leading to the upper floors. So far the house seemed very symmetrical and ornate. Standing a moment, Adrian looked around, stepping a bit closer to Vincent as he looked around the elaborate mansion, smirking faintly.

 

Shifting restlessly, the brunette glanced to Vincent, who stood with his head down, his eyes searching, memorizing the layout of the house the best he could.

 

“Ah, sorry to keep you waiting, I was having a bit of a, ah, nap, you see.” A short man with a rounded stomach came into view from the staircase, his hair a heavy grey, flecked with black and white, his features creased, his eyes a cold grey.

 

“Mr. Wincocks,” the agents greeted with a bow of their heads, stepping aside to press Adrian and the ex Turk forward.

 

“Mr. Pryve,” the rich man grunted, thick fingers hanging onto his pockets as he looked them over, his gaze falling on Vincent, who merely looked dangerously seductive with his flashing red eyes, messy raven hair cascading over his shoulders. It was a tense moment as Mr. Wincocks decided if the young boy—by the looks—was suitable or not.

 

“I can tell he's not broken,” the rotund man wheezing, wiping his brow with a handkerchief in his pocket, but he nodded. “All right. It must have been quite a trip. What's your name, fine young gentleman?”

 

Offering his hand, though the man looked like a Mafia member, he wore an eased expression, like a jovial older man who just liked to have a good time, whether it was over a large dinner, on the golf course, or discussing politics. Though Vincent didn't want to take his hand, he complied. He would need to earn his trust in order to lower Mr. Wincock's and his agents' guard. Shaking the man's hand with a firm grip, the guy smiled.

 

“Nice hand shake ya got there, ah…. What's the name?”

 

“Vincent Valentine, sir,” Adrian supplied, looking a little expectantly at the man he was doing business with.

 

“Vincent… Vincent….. Okay, I can buy that. Eh, One and Two!” Mr. Wincocks muttered before shouting and looking over his shoulder. Two men in a pristine and even white clothing approached, one a deep brown color, the other a pale white with ice colored blue eyes. They stood beside the rich man, awaiting their orders.

 

“Take Vincent to the baths before we dine while I do business with Adrian.” Nodding warmly, he looked up to red eyes as he spoke. “I think you'll like it here Vincent, if you give it a chance.

 

We'll talk tomorrow over lunch, since I'm sure you're travel weary, so just relax tonight okay? If you need anything—and I mean anything, just called for One or Two, okay? Long as you're here, you can ask em anything ya want, okay?” Nodding, the two servants gently coaxed Vincent to follow them, leading him around the stairs, silent until they were talked to, which for Vincent wouldn't be very much.

Up the gracefully curved stairs and down the wide catwalk, like a bridge with a velvet rug, to the other hall, wide enough for the three to walk shoulder to shoulder with room to spare. A crystal chandelier hung above them, glinting orange in the dying sunlight. Down the hall to the right, away from where the master bedroom would be, to a door which housed a large guest bedroom, and off to the side through another doorway, opening the rooms to each other and made private by a pull over door, a picturesque image of flowers covering the pinned up fabric.

 

“Here you are, sir, everything you need is in the bathroom quarters. Please call or ring us when you wish to be fitted for other clothing.”

 

The pale man spoke, then bowed and turned, the black man bowing and following behind. Left in the plush, well furnished room, he wondered if he could make an escape so soon, but no, there were too many people. Even if he managed a silent getaway, it would be too soon; people would be looking for him, in cars no doubt, while he was on foot. He would bide his time.

 

 

************************

 

 

The bath had been fairly short, but enjoyable. The softly curved marbled tub was big enough to hold two people lying together, and deep enough to nearly reach his shoulders when he slouched. It was padded and soft, like sitting on a giant, water resistant sponge. All kinds of bath soaps, body washes, shampoos, skin cleaners, and the like lined one side of the tub, plus a spiraling iron cast bath stood in the corner of the wall, holding most of the bath things, sponges and clothes included. The shower could house a small party, walled with marbled glass, doors that swung either way on opposite ends. It was nice and pampering, but not a life he was used to, or wanted to become used to. He didn't need his muscular frame to atrophy from lack of use. If he was supposed to be a body guard he'd have to keep up some, but Vincent didn't feel like he'd be on the job all that much. Mostly, it would probably just be very bland and boring.

 

Wrapped in a large cotton towel, he wasn't sure if he wanted to call to be “fitted for other clothing,” so he slipped back into his clothes, despite them being somewhat dirty. What was he supposed to do now though? What about his gun? Silently stalking from the room, he decided to observe the manners of the house and find out all about it, the rooms there were, the advantages and disadvantages, whether any floor boards squeaked, where guards roamed—but as soon as he stepped foot into the wine carpeted floor, the servants One and Two were waiting for him at the catwalk before the stairs.

 

“Dinner awaits,” the black man said in a deep voice, bowing shortly. “Please allow us to escort you.” Vincent wondered if he could knock them out with a few well placed punches or kicks but no, he told himself, I have to wait for the most opportune moment, where I know I may not be tailed until hours and hours later, perhaps even the next day.

 

Approaching the servants, they nodded, calmly walking behind him and following him down the stairs where they showed him to the dining room. A long solid cherry wood table draped with a cloth and sets with food and dinner things filled the middle of the room. Adrian and Mr. Wincocks were sitting already, the rich man at the head of the table, a napkin clinging to his bosom. He stopped talking when the vampire entered the room.

 

“Ah, Vincent, our guest of honor! Please, sit with us to feast! The night is still young, and there is much to be said.” He motioned to the seat beside him, across from Adrian, who also watched with bright blue eyes. The food smelled delicious, a fine and high class pleasantry he'd never really experienced, but would appreciate well. Food was food, and while Vincent wasn't too picky, he'd never been lucky enough to eat this well, even in his days as a Turk. He had eaten with other Turks who were underpaid, but not as severely as some of the other employees there, and he'd eaten with VIP's at restaurants but even then the food wasn't <i>this</i> classy.

 

The food set at their end, he sat himself, looking around at the large variety of food and wondering where to start. As Mr. Wincocks began serving himself, Adrian took the incentive and Vincent followed. As dinner wore on, the host rambled, a tactic to put them at ease, though Vincent's silence made it a bit awkward, and eventually he got around to the topic of the whole dinner conversation.

 

“So ah, Vincent….. I understand you trained with the Turks of ShinRa? Is that right?” The ex Turk nodded, and after a long pause with no other response, the fat rich man pressed on. “So what kind of things did you do? I know a little about the Turks, but I don't know what kind of training they go through.” Silent a moment, Vincent ate a speared mushroom before replying.

 

“Well, a lot of physical training, agility training, accuracy, learning self defense, how to use guns, off hand weapons, close range weapons, other equipment.” The brunette felt a little self conscious and guilty for detailing what Turks did. It wasn't as bad as revealing paperwork or something, but even as an ex Turk he wasn't very proud of it. He didn't like ShinRa, but he only hated one man in particular from there, and that was Hojo.

 

“I guess,” he continued slowly, nibbling on a roll, “you could say we do some of everything. We're trained for missions and to be bodyguards but depending on who we're protecting, we also wait on them, in a manner of speaking.” He sighed, looking at his plate. He didn't want to take this job, whether it paid or promised him a comfortable living for the rest of his immortal life.

 

“That's good, that's good,” Mr. Wincocks praised, stuffing another forkful of roasted beef in his mouth and swallowing with red wine. “So I understand from Mr. Pryve here that you're the one for my job eh?” He chuckled, missing Vincent's grimace. Feeling a foot on his legs, Adrian had his brows cocked, glancing at the table, then at Vincent, prodding him a little more forcefully. Vincent looked a little confused, but it was well covered.

 

“Well then, Mr. Valentine, I have the job for you. As you can see, I'm getting to be an old man. My servants do well, but I need someone else I can trust to be around and handle some business for me. I'm a wealthy man Vincent, and you having been around the president of ShinRa should know what it's like for a wealthy and respected man, the dangers it can hold. I'm not saying my life is fraught with peril, no.”

 

Adrian, nudged him again, looking at the table and raising his brows when he looked back at Vincent. Under the table? Calmly eating and listening a moment, he picked up his glass, simultaneously dropping his napkin and hoping the distraction would work. Thankfully the servants One and Two were gone to fetch wine and dessert.

 

“Oops…” Though Vincent didn't think it was entirely inconspicuous, it wasn't as though he was just setting the whole thing up. For all anyone knew, it looked like an accident. Bending to retrieve his napkin, he glanced under the table cloth, Adrian has his gun and had been trying to give it back to him. Smart Adrian, he cursed. What the hell am I supposed to do? Reaching the gun, he hand to stretch a bit, and make it quick. Just able to grasp it with the help from Adrian, he picked up his napkin, deftly slipping the gun under his shirt and to his back thigh, his distracting hand, holding up the napkin. Blotting at his stained black shirt, Mr. Wincocks called for one of the servants who can scurrying in.

 

“Help take care of this immediately!” He pointed to the stained shirt, but Vincent just shook his head.

 

“No sir, I'm fine. I'll probably need new clothes anyway? He waved off the servant who donned a wet cloth to help wipe it up. “I'm fine.” Vincent snapped under his breath at a retreating hand.

 

“You very well may, but nonetheless, Vincent, I am here to make you comfortable. Accidents happen. So don't feel bad. This incident is just a very small price to pay. But you've also just bathed yes? It's a pity!” Wheezing, Mr. Wincocks sighed, returning to his meal when Vincent seemed adamant about it. After all, for meeting Vincent Valentine, his first day or so he wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, to make sure he was well in his territory before starting to transform him to how he saw fit. Adrian had paused to watch the situation play out, but resumed his meal, soon getting to dessert. Vincent ate what he could, what he wanted, but it still wasn't a whole lot. Soon, that vile man would have warmed up to him and then he'd start going over the principles and basics of what to expect.

 

Vincent would get his chance, and he would take it. He just had to be patient. Making more of a fuss than he would normally to distract the servant patting at his shirt, trying to have him avoid the gun, Adrian eyed Vincent with slight amusement and stress because he couldn't really help. Alas, dinner ended and Vincent was told he would be escorted to be fitted for new clothing and that the evening was his; Mr. Wincocks would finish his business with the blue eyed brunette and send him on his way. After managing to escape to the bathroom so the servants wouldn't follow him, he had little room to hide his gun, but he finally settled on slipping under the bathtub's padding despite it being damp. Back in his room stood several servants, waiting to measure him. With pursed lips he calmly surveyed them, waiting for one of them to say something. At length, the white bald man did.

 

“Will you please remove your clothing sir, so that we may measure you to tailor your clothing?” Glaring, it didn't give the ex Turk the edge he wanted: the servants remained stolid as stone until he began to strip off his garments, handing it to them one by one until he was stark naked.

 

Running his fingers through ebony hair, he stood impatiently, not particularly wanting to give up so soon and make it easy for them. Standing stiffly, however, he allowed them to measure him for whatever fitted suits they planned to make. The two worked silently, the men he had seen before, One and Two, writing down numbers and mumbling out measurements.

 

“Do you have any preference in clothing? Color, style, et cetera?” the black man asked in his baritone voice, grey eyes warm as he looked up for a response. Although Vincent couldn't read either of their thoughts, he would supply no emotion of his own, other than his stubbornness.

 

“I would prefer black, but style doesn't matter to me, so long as it fits and does not get in his way.” Vincent clipped his words as he spoke, smooth and fluid, though sore tempted to let them be with a dry and firm tone. They were only doing their job, but nonetheless, he couldn't help badgering the messengers, so to speak.

 

The black man, number Two, nodded.

 

“Yes, Mr. Valentine.” Vincent almost cringed at the name. He hadn't been formally referred to as that name for a long time, at least not since he was in the Turks and worked for ShinRa. When the two were finished, he stood, Two watching him, composure perfect, remaining silent while One went to fetch him clothes.

 

“They're borrowed from another wardrobe. You'll have to make do with what's given until we have your own clothing made. I hope these suit you,” One addressed as he returned, several sets of clothes neatly folded in his arms, and he set them down on the bed where Vincent stood, holding up the undergarments and pants first for the ex Turk to stand into, then the shirt. Though the shirt was white, it was all quite fitting, and upon looking in a mirror, he was rather astonished with how slender he was. He was slim, toned and smooth skinned, but he never really realized he was quite that small. With a fairly average frame, he could hold his own, though he relied more on agility, but then again, he often wore a cape, deceiving his appearance and he often didn't look in mirrors or at his reflection either.

 

“I have something to sleep in for you here, if you may, Mr. Valentine. But please, wear whatever is comfortable and suits you. If you have any problems or need anything, please do not hesitate to call for us,” One assured, indicating the clothing on Vincent's bed to which the vampire nodded his acknowledgement.

 

Then, when they left, Vincent had the room to himself. Out of his ruffled blouse, stifling in his opinion, he stayed in his pants, wondering where the clothes he had given them earlier had gotten to, where they had taken them. The ebony haired man needed a better place to stow away his gun, a safe place where servants wouldn't look. He had the feeling they would clean, probably daily, to freshen things up and keep them neat and tidy, but he wasn't seeing any suitable places thus far. Under the bed? No, there was nothing there. In the closet? Just hanging clothes, pressed shirts he'd never wear, jackets too big for him and hats that looked utterly ridiculous. In the depths of his dresser? Ah, and what was this? In the bottom of a small deeper drawer, after removing the assorted gloves, he found a faux bottom to the drawer. Carefully managing to loosen it and wiggle it out, he gently removed the wooden panel, looking around furtively, just in case. Vincent hadn't found any camera's in his search, especially after scrutinizing the room while he looked for a place to keep his gun, though he assumed other rooms, and certainly the property surrounding the place was equipped with electronic devices.

 

Beneath the panel, it was slightly dusty, and curiously in the middle sat was looked to be an old seal for pressing wax, though it had no handle. Looking over it closely, he didn't recognize the symbol engraved into the wood, surrounded with a heavy black marble, giving it its weight. The carving was fairly simple, though intricate, more like an odd crest than any family name, a ring around the edge, a diamond sticking its points through the circle, small characters of some sort etched in small print in the open spaces around it, and in the middle was another character he didn't recognize. Though it was a little large for a wax seal, it was clear enough to see the runes. They were elements, at least a couple of which he recognized, one for the moon, and another for darkness, but he didn't want to ponder so much about it now, not while he still had to hide his gun. Quickly retrieving his gun from beneath the padding in the tub, he quietly placed it in the drawer, returning the false bottom to its previous position, then placing the gloves neatly back in, holding onto the seal for the time being.

 

Stretching out on the opulent bed, lofty and comfortable, he looked out the large windows that bowed into the night, the sky heavily pregnant with stars, the rounded moon fat and smiling down with a silvery glow. It reminded him of many nights before, the sky clear, scattered with clouds and littered with stars. It was beautiful, out in the country without all the pollution or lights to block it out, but all the memories weren't so goof either. Pushing the hurt and pain of them aside, he shook his head in his reverie, standing to extinguish the lights with a flick of a switch before settling back in, looking over the seal, then back at the stars. Pocketing the small trinket, Vincent swung his legs over the other side of the plush bed, adorned with pillows, knocking several to the ground to open the balcony doors, standing outside to feel the cool breeze. It was quiet and refreshing, cool with the last threads of a mild winter that scarcely reached Nibelheim, despite their location being at the foothills of the mountains; the large masses of rock shielded the little town from most of the winter snows, the brunt of the winter on the northern most peaks.

 

Below, guards kept watch at several points. They would keep shifts through the night, and sleep minimally, but they were used to it. Vincent would escape, at least not tonight, and though he yearned to be free from back stabbing people and perverse owners who probably saw him more a pet than a human, it might not be too bad for the first week or two. If he had to, he would escape leaving nothing behind, then the world would truly fear and shun him. But he liked his solitude, and so Vincent, the ex Turk, the darkling, stood, watching the stars for a long time and remembering the past, the possible future, and the dreams he'd never have.

 

 

************************

 

 

Vincent had lived there for several days already, nearly a week now, and he had grown accustomed to Mr. Wincocks and servants that seemed to pop up out of nowhere. They still unsettled him at times, they were stealthy and quiet, whether they meant to be or not, but the vampire trained himself to search them out and be able to differentiate who was approaching. Although he wasn't entirely fond of his choice of clothing sometimes, it was better than always wearing the same type of pristine, pressed clothing the servants and other guards wore. As Mr. Wincocks explained it to him, he wanted Vincent to appear more as a friend or acquaintance than a body guard, which worked quite well for his appearance. The old man had talked about cutting Vincent's hair as well, but the brunette firmly refused, though it would have done him better too. Perhaps he didn't want it cut short, to remind him of his days as a Turk…. To remind him of Lucrecia, and the scandalous and heinous deeds he committed way back when.

 

The rich man had talked him through what he expected later on, but for now he was given enough time to settle in before Mr. Wincocks tested him himself. The past couple days, after thoroughly knowing the blue print of the mansion, or at least as much as he was able to explore and sneak into, though he hadn't yet seen the master bedroom, Vincent had been taken to a small field not far from the house where several body guards began with his marksmanship. Doing quite well, Two nodded his approval, though he didn't seem impressed in the least, but he didn't show much, if any emotion anyway. He could understand the servant's plight and the restriction of his job because of the gravity and the severity of possible situations, but nonetheless, it was a little creepy to see no emotion whatsoever, for anything. When Vincent was roused one morning and hastily taken to the field, the dew beneath his boots, the sun rising behind him, he began a close hand combat. Of course, being slightly disoriented from being waken and taken out there so quickly, a little out of swing from his training as a Turk, he suffered minor damage, but he was always quick to return to his feet and put up a defensive position. He fought from instinct, even when he was more alert, moving fluidly, but he was outmatched by pure strength and build. The best he had in such a situation was a little luck, taking whatever opening was available, no matter how dirty, and his agility and dexterity to save him. The guards didn't hold back either, not after testing his limits and knowing where he stood.

 

Vincent was bruised by the time the sun had risen, and he was panting, sweating and dirty from a good hour or so of fighting. He was rather rusty, but he proud that he could still hold his own for so long. The guards training him looked hardly winded, and though they had a formidable defense, Vincent knew whittling them down would lead him to victory, however, even after several solid and well aimed kicks, the heavy men wore deep purple bruises, perhaps even a cracked rib or two, but showed no signs of slowing. Thankfully the ex Turk had gotten away with a few bruises of his own, as well as a few scrapes, but that was mostly from the rocks and sticks on the ground. Vincent had started off fending himself from one guy to wake him up, then another joined and he managed to keep them both off him. Now a third replaced the other two, and they stood by to watch. Breathing deeply and evenly, he grit his teeth, keeping his mind open. It was brutal, but there was nothing he could do about it. He could flee, and perhaps he may. This man was slightly smaller, though still rather bulky, not quite as swift, a little stiffer in his movement because of his muscle build. It was always a slight advantage, but at the rate they were going, the ex Turk wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. Regaining his breath as they carefully circled, wary of the men who had fallen out to be replaced, just in case they decided to try something sneaky, Vincent looked at his options. He knew when to fight, but he knew when to flee as well.

 

If he stayed, he'd probably lose his energy, and he had no idea how long these guys would go at him, or if they would give him a break at all. His limbs had been moving the past fifteen minutes by sheer force of will, tired after the vigorous dueling of the morning. The darkling would need his strength to survive, and if he looked at this like a real world survival, he would take the best option. Although unknowing of what lesson, if any, Mr. Wincocks wanted to teach, he was still going with his instinct. Circling, he stepped forward to feign a punch, anticipated as he knew it would be, ducking away to feign escaping on his foe's left, circling around the other end to give him a sharp knock in the kidney before bolting off into the woods. Darting through the pines, he could hear the chase behind him. Then men were fast, despite their size, but even after long moments of light footed running, the chase was subdued. They could give him ground and hunt him out, knowing he couldn't get far on less energy, and Vincent knew this too. He could take the rest of the day to reach Nibelheim if he wanted to whether the circumnavigation of the mountains, not needed to go through the creature infested myriad of rock and rubble.

 

After long moments of a slow paced running, more of a steady jog, he reached a brook. Careful of his footprints, he followed it upstream, climbing onto the limbs of a great oak on the other side, and like a fox, was glad for the branches of other trees twining into it. Needing more distance to be safe of his foot prints, he took off his shoes, soaked from the water, carefully climbing from the tree and stepping as lightly as he could, walking along logs to avoid leaving a trail when he could. When he felt a good distance away, the sun was at its peak in the sky. Sitting, he crouched, looking around, then climbed a large pine. He was hungry, and quite thirsty, but for now he could rest before looking around more. Vincent was lucky that no monster had reckoned upon him yet.

 

Having rested a short while, he decided to loop back to the house. Although it was a long trek, he worked at a steady pace, keeping his eyes and ears open, pausing occasionally to listening, looking for any signs of followers, meticulously hunting for any tracks. Being no expert ranger by far he couldn't read the winds as well or the sun or trees, but he managed to avoid any risky predicaments. Stealing up to the house, he knew he was close as the grass began to give way under the layers of foliage and undergrowth to more tamed land, and soon the mansion came into sight. Wary, he scaled a tree and was content to watch. Weary, thirsty, and hungry, he watched the grounds for a while, the sun coasting the horizon, and soon, seeing it would be relatively safe, he found a trellis to climb to his balcony. It would at least avoid the prospect of who he might meet at the front door, but knowing the guards would be alert, he'd have to deal with them sooner or later. Checking through the windows and doors, no one was in his room, unless they were perhaps hiding in the closet. Still wary, Vincent glanced about with cautious ruby eyes before opening his unlocked door and entering his room. Able to fight if he needed, the ex Turk proceeded to bathe and clean himself, then, refreshed, he would face whoever wanted to oppose him.

 

 

************************

 

 

Training had gone well, and Vincent improved every day. He was observant, watchful, and careful to remember small details. He possessed a quick mind, and even quicker feet and hands. He tied his hair up most of the times now, but he hadn't forgotten his plans to escape. Usually kept busy, he had little chance to get out and away from the mansion for good, so he bided his time. The vampire was fed well, was well rested, and taken care of. Over time, he sported fewer injuries; the small wounds he did receive were from the sheer force of power clashing with power. His gunmanship hardly needed improvement; he was still flawless in that area and could feasibly hit any target, regardless of size and distance and speed, and least within the best of any human ability. The fact he wasn't entirely human did tend to help with his training as well, though he wasn't using or abusing his powers: it was merely innate. Mr. Wincocks seemed to trust him, and why have a problem with the brunette, when he improved immensely and was impeccable in everything he was taught or showed, and he was quick to learn when the rich man was trying to prove a point or teach a lesson. Vincent didn't agree with it all, but he supposed if he looked at it from the view that he was supposed to be guarding and protecting Mr. Wincocks, then he may as well need what he was given at some possible point. It was weeks of staying there and earning Mr. Wincocks' trust, as well as the servants. Though he spoke little, he put them at ease with a hospitable presence and soon his negative attitude abated entirely, but it wouldn't remain for long. It was only a part of his ploy to escape.

 

Vincent couldn't afford years to build the trust up completely, but he figured he was ready soon. Within a few nights time, he would be gone. It would all be set perfectly. Gaining a longer endurance and possessing the ability to survive in the wilderness for some time, Vincent felt he held the advantage, even if he didn't plan on stealing anything for transportation. It would be riskier on foot, but it was a chance he wanted to take, and an arduous journey he was more than willing to set on. Perhaps he could wind up in another town to stay awhile, in solitude, away from others, a recluse and a hermit. The days had grown well into spring, and the garden around the mansion was in full bloom, the grass an emerald green, the zephyrs soft and pleasant, the warm sun enough to give anyone a good case of nostalgia, a reminiscence of memories long past. The summer would be mild because of the location at the mountains, and it was the perfect place, all year round for cool winters, warm summers, and all year round mild weather. It was planned for the dead of night, on a new moon so the cover of shadows would befriend him once more, and the time would be aimed for when the guards switched. Vincent made sure it would work.

 

Sitting up, a night before his planned escape, he had his gun in his lap, polishing it, running his fingers over it as he looked at the bright stars, the scarce sliver of moon that would disappear within the next twenty-four hours. Curiously, he heard a disturbance outside. Vincent could barely hear it, but it wasn't normal, not after sitting so long and listening to the silence of night. There was tension in the air as well, and that only backed up his suspicions. Something wasn't right. Carefully, he scanned the room, the shadows for a darkness that didn't quite fit, but he found none, then carefully walked through his open window doors and to the balcony, crouched and carefully approaching, gun loaded behind his back. The ex Turk peeked through the colonnades of the balcony railing and to the yard below. He could sense another person, one unfamiliar to this place, someone who didn't belong; an intruder. Quickly running his options through his mind, he decided to take action, as though to prove he could easily dismantle any burglar or assassin that tried to break into Mr. Wincocks' house. Stealing as quietly as darkness through the room he carefully and silently entered the hall, listening attentively.

 

It was moments before he moved stealthily across the catwalk and to the stairs, pressed in a dark corner, closest to the front door, where he couldn't be seen as easily, the stairs rolling down before him. Listening to the ring of utter solitude, the cheeping of crickets and song frogs outside, Vincent stole down the stairs, but stopped, freezing as he heard a tapping, like a knock on the door, and it grew louder until rather suddenly, it was like an explosion, the door giving way to shards of splintered wood, the chain broken. The vampire could see the flash of light, a rain of fire and smoldering pieces of warped glass. So they were equipped with higher level materia, huh? A little leery because he didn't know the full extent of this person's powers or what magic they had at their disposal, he wished Mr. Wincocks could have trusted him with magic enough to at least defend himself better, but the man had promised they would get to it soon, that their current body guards could handle any situation. The only people he could hear were One, Two and the couple other guards that watched over Mr. Wincocks as he slept. The servants had gone to their servant house a mile or so away, on another part of the grounds, a hotel-like building that could house them all with little trouble.

 

Still on the stairs, his hair down—as it was often up during the day for several purposes, those of safety and defense mainly—it helped conceal his porcelain pallor, the shadows enveloping him easily, and in their haste and focus to defend the mansion, One, Two rushed past, the remaining guards perched atop the stairs at their post and securing Mr. Wincocks' safety from there. Despite the rush and confusion, there was minimal noise, the guards knowing well not to give their positions away if they could gain some advantage, however, they didn't stand a chance against their foe. In fact, they even hesitated, apparently recognizing the tall figure as it rounded the stairwell with a maniacal glint in his mako green eyes, a smirk plastered to his face, and silver hair whipping with the dissipating heat waves. It was Sephiroth, and he had come to retrieve Vincent.

 

“Hello boys, glad you came to play. I'm sure you'd love to join your companions on the lawn.” His grin was cocky. The other guards had been killed, slaughtered like sheep, and that was the apprehension Vincent had sense earlier, the slight disturbance in the night that barely rustled the blood stained grass they fell to. Masamune was unsheathed, glowing a fiery metallic red, dripping with threads of blood, luminescent of the fire starting in the hallway. The first class soldier wouldn't leave anyone not walking away alive, and the only two that would, would be him and his point of interest lingering on the stairwell, alighted now by the blaze of a hundred thousand gil rug burning.

 

Despite the body guards being equipped to resist magic, Sephiroth's was strong enough to cause problems, particularly using elemental damage. The protective men were impervious to status effects, which Sephiroth didn't bother with, instead using Demi 3, and even Vincent could feel the effects. He felt like lead, so he knew One and Two felt like they were being crushed, even if they were physically stronger than he was. With a blast of ice that climbed the banister and reached Vincent's feet, Sephiroth followed up with a Firaga, melting the ice into puddles, making the wood bubble and burst as though it weren't solid at all. Vincent felt like it singed him badly, though throwing his arm up for protection, it was a minor burn however, and the guards weren't so lucky, even with their shields and resistance. Quickly standing, he wasn't sure if he should run or not. Sephiroth was here, but what had he come for, and how did he find him? Not that it was so surprising since he had found him several times before, but even after crossing an ocean?

 

One and Two crumpled to the floor, the fire licking around them, unconscious after the initial shock of the attack. They hadn't been able to utter even a cry of surprise before they were doomed, lungs caked with smoke, choking them, and if the flames didn't finish them off soon, the lack of oxygen would. Whatever going on upstairs couldn't be told, and though Vincent was supposedly under Mr. Wincocks' supervision and attendance, he couldn't bring himself to try an defend the home he was running away from. Sephiroth looked at him, and held out one hand. He had come for the vampire after all. Merely looking onward for a moment as though he didn't believe the sight, the ex Turk took a ginger step forward, eyes glancing up at towards the men who were surely evacuating Mr. Wincocks' from his estate. With a devilish grin Sephiroth took Vincent's hand in his, the ensnaring grip steely, as though the swordsman wasn't handling a fragile human but pure cold steel instead.

 

“Seph—?” Vincent began imploringly, but was cut off as Sephiroth swept him close to his strong body, the small lithe frame folded so delicately in his embrace.

 

“Miss me?” Sephiroth grinned wryly before throwing Vincent over his shoulder, gun still dangling from the brunette's hand as he was carried out of the house, weaving through the rooms to the back yard of the house, escaping into the night.