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Kitsusagi Mountain Captain
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 Posted: Fri Jun 16, 2006 1:14 am
Water is a necessity of the Mountain, and the main source of such is from the Waterfall. Towards the western edges of the Mountain, after passing much rugged land, one can find the home of the aquatic kitsusagi. The waterfall, though small, brings life for many creatures, whether it be supply the air the aquatics ?breathe? or the hydration a passing animal needs.
The waterfall's current flows eastward down the mountain, forming a small meandering creek which twists its way through the woods and disappears under ground, when lost, finding the creek and following it downstream is a surefire way to reorient yourself.
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Posted: Mon Sep 04, 2006 5:48 pm
 If there was ever a place to get one's bearings and to rid their mind of uneasiness, it would surely have to be the roars of the waterfall located on the Mountain. Its steady course has a particular rhythm that could draw you out of reality and into a far off place, away from what ails you.
In the case of Lucrecia, too often is she faced with this trouble, and it is often one would find her down by the waterfalls, laying across a large slab of rock. Her ears listened to the patient, neverending cries of the falls, surrounded by the continuous rising mist of the water, and even hit occassionally by some sprays. None of this bothered her. It did take her away.
Today she is there. Her head rests on her forepaws, nestled comfortably there; her half lidded gaze staring and watching. She's plagued by her troubles, especially guilt, but this place offers a serenity that she can't find anywhere else. A temporary relief and escape from her pain. Her long tails hanging over the back end of the rock as she settles into her thoughts that are far too noisy for her today. Peace is certainly what she wants and needs.
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Posted: Tue Sep 05, 2006 3:04 am
((Random note: I don't have Vincent's tagless picture. T-T I wish I did. Ah well. The tag will do. But I thought I'd note it because otherwise it seems silly for me to post it. 8D))  Aimless - all of it was aimless, forgotten, long since gone and buried under a mind that did not belong to the form that it had taken. He had known since he came to this place, known that he did not belong, that there was something wrong, something unsettlingly horrific about the whole situation. In the time since arrival he had flittered with memories, yet none were clear, none were certain. All he knew for certain was the pain and the empty resentment that filled him, a feeling of longing and unhappiness with no direction to discover its source. Even those brief things, those items of his 'memory' that he didn't truly understand, they offered nothing to him. Those shadows of whatever he had been, whatever he might've been, they were nothing but just that - shadows, meaningless whisps cast on his path to remind him of a life that he knew he did not want yet could not relinquish for some reason.
Thus he walks. There is no rest, no need for it; he has no need for it, this rest, this sustenance. He has no need for that which others require to live. He has a feeling that it doesn't matter anyway - how long has he pushed on since his first encounter of his 'kind?' How long has he wandered? He doesn't know, nor does he care; all the days are spent wandering over the terrain, mapping it unconsciously while he hazes about in some kind of half-formed dream. There are things that whisper to him and taunt his mind, things that offer to take his body and make it their own, things that offer to give him the rest he craves but neither needs nor seeks. Yet he ignores them all, does not want their attentions.
There are days when they grip more at him - when they make him lash out at nothing or break into laughter. There are days when they send him careening through the forests in hopes that something will simply find him and devour him. But for the most part the days are calm, eerily quiet, letting him drown in the sea of agony that he finds himself.
Today is a quiet day.
He doesn't notice where he is going, what he is doing. The sound of the water draws him - it frightens him, scares him, makes his heart race and his head spin. He has developed a fear of it; the water is so inviting, so cool and deadly and so many things. It could envelop him and swallow him whole. He wants it more than anything, but he cannot be bothered. This is his punishment - punishment for sins that he does not remember, punishment for what he is. Punishment for who he is.
His ears hang loose and low; there is no need to be alert. Nothing will attack him - if it does, then let it eat him or let him kill it. What happens will happen. He does not feel the need to be alert or defensive when alone, only around others. Only when there are others who might speak, who might reach out and taint themselves on him. Then, then he must be careful - even around them, the ones before, the ones he does not remember, even with them he had to be careful.
It is for their own good.
He falls into place beside the water, metal-clad claws scraping on rock as he collapses, eyes staring blankly into the water. This place reminds him of something he cannot fathom. He gives in to his exhaustion finally, but he does not sleep. He cannot sleep.
He fears the sleep as much as he fears the water - more, perhaps, more than anything.
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Posted: Tue Sep 05, 2006 11:46 am
( I can probably get ahold of it for ya. xd Just at the time I didn't have Lucrecia certed. Ehehe. )
She remains where she is. It would be several minutes before the other Kitsusagi would make his presence known. It would not be with a demanding appearance or dramatic entrance; it would be the scratching of the metal glove and boots as they clack against the rock sending a reverberating ring into the air. They reach her ears, lifting high up above her head and her hair. She shifts, drawing up her head slowly, her hair slipping around in front of her face; this makes her lift up a forepaw to push it back away from her face just enough so that her eyes are not obstructed of her view.
They search, slowly; she is not keen of sight but she is certainly not blind. It is helpful though that the bright crimson he wears, the gold plating, and the black are all standing out against the green grass and summer trees. Soon it'd be autumn; he may have fit in better there. From her elevation somewhat higher than that of his, she stares at him, watching closely as he finally just lets his apparently weary body fall onto the rock slab by the pond's edge.
Her interest is piqued, but who could blame her. Attractive? No, it wasn't that, that caught her attention. It was just his whole being. Something about him, all too familiar, and just the overall demeanor. Sad, alone... almost pathetic. A scientist, or at least that is what she tries to be, she is one who observes first and then gets hands on; observing is what she will do for now. Her eyes stay on him, looking him over, wondering about him, questions quickly swarming into her head, words wanting to work their way out of her throat, a desire to hear him speak, to hear what stories he has to tell. A natural curiosity coupled with that curiosity that all scientists are prone to have.
It becomes too much. She slowly rises up to all fours, and she makes no attempt to hide her presence from him. Who knew if he would hurt her if she snuck up on him. Dainty feminine steps push her forward, leaping down onto the next rock with a faint click as her hindlegs hit the stone; she repeats onto the next rock until she is down on the softer grass some yards away. Lucrecia had never looked away, careful to watch for his reactions, to see if he knew she was there yet. She pushes forward regardless though, still small steps with a notable air of caution around them as she progresses towards him.
She stops when she believes to be out of range of any quick striking paws, standing to the lower left of his body. And it's then she speaks, a saddened voice, but the interest clearly evident too, and maybe even concern, "Hello?"
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Posted: Tue Sep 05, 2006 10:21 pm
((That would be spiffy. 8D You don't hafta, but it would be cool to have. I think I lost Paine's untagged too. >O At least I have their tags though.))
He does not notice the presence of another; he is unaware that he is not alone, and for the moment then lets his guard down. He is sprawled almost haphazardly, uncaring of how his limbs spread from his body. His face comes free of the top of the cloak it is so oft hidden behind, though it is covered in the unkept hair that covers his head. Crimson eyes slide shut then, and for a few moments he manages to relax, breath escaping in an almost-sigh as he does so. It is quiet here, and the sound of the water draws him in; it masks over the whispering in his head, slides over and covers the wicked and terrible things that swirl about in the back of his mind. It is comfortable, too comfortable, and he knows this - he does not deserve it, does not deserve this comfort. He should be moving, should be walking and in pain, but he cannot make himself move. If just for a moment, he enjoys this feeling, not of being free, but of being briefly forgetful of his sins.
There is a noise then, and his ear twitches, body tensing. A short time later there is a voice, and the placid body jolts into action, whipping upright and taking a few steps back. Vincent bristles unconsciously, his face hiding again behind the cloth that protects him. His ears flatten and his form tenses - there is another like himself. Soon his eyes settle on it - her - and for a few seconds there is nothing but a blank, defensive stare as his mind barely registers at all.
Then - then something strange hits him. Perhaps it is her voice, her sight, her scent... Perhaps it is all of these, but it strikes something inside of him. His ears lift curiously as a new sensation fills him - a feeling of familiarity and perhaps even hope. It is short lived, however, leaving him with a sudden wave of guilt and that hollow emptiness that plagues him so thoroughly. Yet this - this at least is familiar, if much stronger than usual. He does not understand, cannot understand why he feels this way - he does not know her, does not recognize her. He knows no one, remembers nothing, yet there it is.
Vincent wants to talk to her, wants to go to her - attracted? He isn't sure what it is. There is something about her that he knows, but he cannot place. Yet at the same time there is something about her that makes him ache, makes him guilty and sorrowful and perhaps even angry. The sensations overwhelm him for a short time and he growls unconsciously, stepping back a few more steps until his head stops reeling.
"..." He wants to speak, but he cannot find himself. There is a roar in the back of his mind, a hazy sort of combination of everything that she has brought to him. His eyes glaze for a moment - is he mad? He doesn't even know himself. They whisper dark things to him, urges of hate and pain and assault that he simply does not want to act upon. He shakes his head, then finally focuses fully on her, though he struggles against the cacaphony in his mind.
"...hello," he manages finally.
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Posted: Wed Sep 06, 2006 5:12 pm
( Tis easy~ )
She does not venture nearer him when he jolts quickly up onto his feet. Her ears pin back against her head, momentarily looking unsure of herself. Her expression is soft, and even albeit fearful as she forces her eyes to remain on him. She is unaware of the voices that scream in his head, the pain he feels, and what unfortunate memories that might be stirring as a result of her presence. She looks though, almost a yearning in her eyes as she stares back at him.
As the tension seems to leave his form, even if only for a short time, it is enough to let her relax, but not enough to usher her forward. She is not entirely foolish and despite the raging curiosity in her head, she didn't want to go near him. She is grateful for that desire to stay put when she hears his growl, which forces her to take a few steps back to put more space between the two of them; her head dips down, her hair falling in front of her eyes as they look to her right. A sign of submission, obviously, but it wasn't really a matter of dominance; she was showing him respect, and a part of her was greatly afraid that he could hurt her. She was no fighter; she's a woman of science.
Lucrecia remains like that, refusing to give him a look at her eyes, which, by this point, have grown darker with her fear. There is just a slight tremble to her form. When he speaks, she shifts, and another step is taken backwards, and it is with great difficulty that she lifts her head up to look at him again. A part of her feels relief that he can speak, that he is willing to speak, but how long would that last, this peace between them. She watches with a stare that could almost be unnerving, trying to find the words and she blinks, pulling herself back from her fantasy. An unsteady shifting of her paws, switching her weight from one side to the next.
Swallowing, she finally manages to speak too, again, "I didn't mean to disturb you. I'm sorry." Her voice is full of genuine concern and guilt; she is no actress.
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Posted: Wed Sep 06, 2006 9:50 pm
(( heart !))
Vincent's heart sinks at the tone of the other's voice; something within him rebels, screams that she should never sound that way, that she should not be so weak and upset, not on account of him, not because of something he did. Another part of him rips away from that stance though, and yells and writhes in fury that she would dare speak such words to him. He cannot know why, but there is something maddening that she would dare apologize. The two halves surge against each other, and there is a brief moment of confusion and pain that swirls in his eyes before simply dulling down into a blank stare. Let his insides rage as they will - he will be numb to it on the outside, empty and uncaring until one wins over the other.
He does now know that neither can win without his consent; he does not know that only he can truly decide how he feels. He does not know and thus he will never be free - or perhaps he does know, somewhere inside of him, and that is why he does not decide. He is not meant to feel. He is not meant to do such normal actions that the others will always take for granted. He should suffer.
"Do not apologize."
His voice is flat, but soft - it is monotone and deep, yet empty... It is speech without inflection, without feeling. They are words for the sake of words - brought out by logic and the neccessity of the thing. He must speak so he does; it does not mean that he wishes to, does not mean that he feels towards whatever he says - his mind drives his words, not his heart. And even then, even then they must be carefully chosen and drained, for there are the other things, the whispering voices and riotous creatures in the back of his mind, those things that wish nothing more than to rip this poor creature into shreds.
And how easily he could - how easily he could attack her, rip and bite at her, tear her into tiny little bits. It shrieks, this thing in the back of his mind - it howls and hisses and giggles and rakes at his brain, urging him towards that singular act of violence.
"Who are you?"
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Posted: Thu Sep 07, 2006 11:01 pm
Lucrecia wasn't aware of his inner turmoils. She couldn't see it in his eyes. He held his thoughts so well, tucked away neatly behind those crimson eyes. They were a little unsettling, those eyes, but at the same time mesmerizing. Attractive, a little, but they were hypnotic, as if they held secrets they wouldn't dare to ever share. Her own eyes look away again, fearful and uncomfortable in the silence that spans between her apology and his reply.
She only nods, the gesture numb and slow. She wanted to fight him on it, but it was such a silly thing to fight over. She apologized and she would be sorry, even if all she did was startle him, even if it meant nothing to him. That is just in her nature: gentle and sensitive, but certainly not pure; she still was careful, and cautious, but still no innocent creature, and just as vulnerable to sins as others. More so even.
The silence grows. Her tails curl slowly behind her and she closes her eyes as she stands there. She feels like a child again beneath that stare, and she hadn't done anything. There was just something about him that made her feel this pitiful. Things she didn't want to look back on, blocked away, hidden, much like him.
She blinks those eyes open when she hears him speak. Her throat has suddenly gone dry and she has to swallow several times before she manages to find her voice again. By the time she does speak though, it is low and hoarse, "Lucrecia." Then she tries again, clearing her throat and speaking up while also trying to make herself appear more presentable, "Lucrecia Crescent. And you?"
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Posted: Sun Sep 17, 2006 9:13 am
The name - the name makes his already numbed eyes glaze even more, a jolt of pain stabbing through a long-forgotten place in his chest. He winces the slightest bit - just in his face and ears, the tiniest hint of movement, but there is a reaction there. He knows it, too - as does the voice in the back of his head. It cackles at him, goads him on - and another pipes up beside it, deeper and snarling and wicked as the first. They both howl at him of vengence and hantred and passion and so many things he doesn't understand; it is too much for him, and for a few seconds he has to close his eyes, fighting back the monsters that shriek in the shadows of his mind.
At long last - seconds, minutes, hours? - he finds the strength to open them again, though they sting for some reason he cannot place. His throat has gone dry as well, scratchy and horrid. He swallows uneasily, then shifts to settle on his haunches, ears drooping to either side as they relax from the momentary shock.
"Valentine," he says finally, his voice unchanged from before except for the scratch of dryness tugging at it. "Vincent Valentine." His tails curl as he speaks his name - his name, he hasn't spoken in what seems like so long, his name that he doesn't understand why he even knows. He dips his face behind the high cloak he wears, the only part of his face visible being the softly-lit crimson orbs of his eyes, and even those are obscured by the strands of hair that fall forward into his face.
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Posted: Wed Sep 20, 2006 12:55 pm
Lucrecia remains unaware of the inner voices that plague this male. She still stands with the space between them and with every second that passes between them, between their words, she finds herself becoming more and more grateful that she had decided to put such space between them. She did not know him, but something told her to be wary. Her ears twitching, expression as somber as it had been before, maybe even growing worse with his ever-deafening silence.
A small sense of relief again washes over her when he speaks, though it is not without her noticing the difficulty that accompanies it. She follows the suit of his, slowly, unsteadily, sitting herself down on her hindquarters, the skirt bunching around her legs while the coat seems to wrap around her sides. She looks at him, and like him, there is her own familiarity with the name though she does not speak it, and the shock is not as noticable with her.
"It's.. it's a pleasure to meet you, Vincent Valentine." For a moment there is a hint of a smile on her face and in her voice. There is no false honesty or pleasure that she is glad to meet him; she truely is despite that there is something else pining at her from deep within.
She is quiet afterwards, unable to keep her eyes on him and instead looks to the waterfall. There she watches with her soft eyes before speaking again, "Do you like this place? It's.. very comforting isn't it?" Her ears flag down against her head as she turns back to look at him. "It seems to chase troubles away."
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Posted: Mon Oct 09, 2006 9:33 pm
"It is... frightening."
Vincent speaks only after a long silence, crimson eyes lifting to squint up at the pouring water, ears flattening more at the sides of his head. There is a frown on his face, in his words, though it melts away soon enough, eyes closing and head drooping as he lets out the softest of sighs. He shakes his head, body sagging a bit with the effort put forth to both keep himself upright and not give into the sounds swarming in his mind.
They are screeching now, roaring and screaming at this creature, this female, this one whom he has never before met; they want to claw her, rip her to pieces, shred her and devour her very essence. They scream nonsense at him, accusing her of doing things she never could have done - screaming betrayal, hurt, pain, change... fault, fault, fault, fault!
His metal claw curls, scraping down to the rock below; his head droops farther and he shudders, screwing his eyes tighter. The water - the water reminds him, it always reminds him how easy it is. How easy it would be to give in, how simple it would be to dive in and never surface, to give into what is lurking below. He whines softly, shuffling away from the edge of the pool, wondering why he has come here at all. He doesn't know, he doesn't remember, he can't remember, nothing, nothing, nothing...!
His eyes snap open and he breathes, shuddering harshly.
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Posted: Tue Oct 10, 2006 4:59 pm
"Frightening?" Her voices echoes the confusion in her face, all of which are soft, bewildered, but still curious. How could a place as tranquil as this be considered frightening?
She has turned her head by now to look upon this Vincent Valentine, to probe further into him, to learn more. She is more observant than ever as he struggles with his inner demons, and as she watches, she is becoming more and more frightened now. For herself and even for him. Thus she rises up to her feet and makes her way over to him with hesitant but determined caution.
"Vincent? Vincent?" Her words inquisitive, urgent, and concerned, and as he jerks his eyes open and lets out that hard breath, she feels herself grow smaller.
But she still moves closer and when she comes up next to him, provided that he has not shunned her away or given her a look or words that told her to stay away, she sits. The concern is noticable, very much so in those eyes that stare at him, looking almost ready to cry for whatever reason. She is careful as she lifts a foreleg up to brush at his shoulder and arm in a comforting gesture.
"Vincent, are you all right? Do you need anything?"
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Posted: Sun Oct 15, 2006 5:15 pm
He barely notices her to be honest - until she touches him. It's then that he snaps, ears pressing flat against his head and a deep snarl bubbling up from his throat; he lashes out, too-sharp teeth flashing as he moves to bite her - and stops. He stops, just as suddenly as he began, fangs pressed through to flesh but not piercing it; his eyes go wide with the realisation of his actions, and he jerks away, scrambling to sit on a rock set somewhat higher up, tails wrapping around his paws as he allows his head to droop considerably.
"...sometimes tranquility brings out the worst in someone." His head hangs low, dejectedly. Vincent's eyes turn to the ground - he stares at it, hard, willing himself to bore a hole in it with his eyes that he can crawl up inside of and simply disappear within. The creatures, the voices, the things - they cackle, squeal with delight, then coo and curl aorund him, petting and stroking and prodding him onwards to more. Oh yes, that was it, that was the proper path - bite her, tear her, rip her apart and revel in her pain! Destroy her - traitor, killer, hateful, wicked b***h!
He whimpers and lowers himself to the ground, burying his face under his paws, curling to tuck himself under his cape, and draping his tails over his face for good measure. He shudders - not understanding, not comprehending, unable to know why, why they hate her. He has not bitten her - he stopped himself, but can he continue to do that? He doesn't remember why he hates, no, why they want him to hate her; she is so kind, so concerned, and yet all he can think about is tearing her to shreds!
He shivers more, hiding himself within himself as much as possible. He does not deserve anything more - he does not deserve to be, to live, to exist. He does not deserve even to be awake - he does not deserve the right to hate, to love, to feel, yet he does not deserve death. So he will keep himself entangled in his own little world - will she run away? Certainly. What creature would stay after that? And then he will be alone. Alone, alone, alone, utterly alone, and he will have nothing, again, and all will be as it should be.
He doesn't want to be alone. But that is what is going to happen, he is certain, and that is how it should be. Whatever his sins were, whatever calamity so great he cannot even remember it, this is what he is destined for, he is certain of it, no matter how much it might injure him.
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Posted: Mon Oct 23, 2006 1:16 am
It happened too fast for her. It began and ended in a blink of an eye; one split second she's trying to comfort him and the next he has his fangs digging into her flesh. She froze instantly, eyes widening with the realization that he could kill her, and the fear that he may be very well intending to do so. That moment is an eternity to her one that briefly lets her see what she's done with herself, to others, things she'd take back, others she wouldn't.
Then he jerks away and it's gone; a fleeting moment cast to the wind. She is stiff and still, staring off into nothing; staring past him, through him. His voice is a distant sound that she barely hears but can understand all the same. It takes seconds for her to finally come back from whatever world she had been cast into, like a fog clearing in her eyes, this world returns back to her senses and she sees Vincent curling up on the ground around himself, a sad, pathetic sight.
Run away? No. Lucrecia did not run. She stayed, staring down at him with the utmost concern, with that same morbid, scientific curiosity ever present in her character. Like a naturalistic observer she watches him battle with himself unaware of it even taking place. Again time seems to drag on and on and even the roars of the waterfall can't bring her to concentrate on anything else but him, to try and push aside these lingering thoughts. She finally moves and slowly towards him to lay down next to him; the almost bite had not scared her off entirely. Fear is still present though; she is cautious but a part of her begged to comfort him, needed to. So she stays and casting aside all insecurities presses her nose to his hair as a mother would a child.
Nothing is said though. What he would do next would determine it all.
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Posted: Wed Dec 20, 2006 11:16 am
Vincent jumps; his whole body goes rigid and jolts at her touch, but he is in better restraint of himself this time. He cannot seem to force himself to relax, cannot make himself forget the pain or the fear that thuds in his chest, the dull sensation of anticipation and uncertainty that tugs at his heart strings. He can, however, exercise control of himself; he has slipped once, but he will not again. It is an embarrassment, shameful and wicked to lose himself once already. He cannot afford to do it again.
Under the roar of the waterfall and the heckling echoing in his head, Vincent's eyes slowly cracked open, his body moving just enough to allow him to see what has happened. What it is he does not comprehend; she has not run away, she has not fled from him, she has, instead, elected to stay and not only that, but she has chosen to stay near him!
He lifts his head slowly, turning blank orbs to gaze at her questionatively, the faint swirl of emotion colouring them from their normal empty appearance. He doesn't speak, but not because he doesn't want to - because he cannot. His mind will not work, his mouth will not work and his throat will not twitch and twist and form the sounds that are necessary. Yet it is there, in the uneven way he holds himself, the way his ears lift the slightest bit from where they are pressed to his head.
He does not comprehend; he understands what has happened, but not why, or how.
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