Categories > Games > Final Fantasy 7
Disclaimer- not mine. just borrowing. no profit made.
Blood had a rather particular odor to it, instantly recognizable once one got familiar enough with it. The familiarity, more than the presence of the fluid itself, was what was bothering Vincent. He could feel the clammy, thick substance gumming his shirt to torso, he could feel it weighing down his coat, drying under his nails, and what bothered him most was the fact he could smell it.
There was a chunk of flesh skewered at the end of one long bronze claw. With an obsessive fastidiousness Vincent worried at it, determined to remove such blatant evidence of a rather hands on brand of violence.
He imagined he could smell that too, slightly rotten, thankfully musky in a way no human was. At least it wasn't human flesh, wasn't human blood. If he had to claw and tear his way through his opponents, it was a small grace they were not human.
At least the red wasn't going to stain his coat...
There was a distance between himself and those who fought beside him, not always a conscious one, but in times like this, when the sickly sweet scent of blood saturated the air, mixed with the putrid tang of torn organs and waste, his companions took a step back, half wondering if the violence was done, if they might not be next.
Not that he blamed them, but right now all he wanted was the blood off of his hand, out of his nails...a thick, molasses slow crimson drip launched itself from bangs he had not realized were sticky, spiked in some sort of macabre parody of Cloud's usual hairstyle. It had an unfortunate trajectory, landing it directly on the tip of his nose, allowing him a good inhalation before falling once more.
He was a fighter, he shouldn't mind this...death should not bother him...but damn there was a difference between the almost casual impartiality of his favored gun and this...carnage. He felt his lip rise in disgust as he shook his clawed hand, sending a disgusting rain of red splattering free. Thick, cooling...he needed it gone. Needed it gone before the sensation teasing at the back of his consciousness made itself known once more....
"Here."
There were a hundred things Vincent expected under the current circumstances, none of which involved a bit of cloth being shoved at him like some sort of awkward offering. Vincent looked up at Cid, wondering what possessed the crass man to get so close...
Cid's face was a study in clashing emotion, a mix of disgust, terror, and concern. His cigarette was clenched between gritted teeth, most likely in danger of being cut in half. When Vincent made no move to accept, Cid waggled the cloth a bit, getting frustrated on top of everything else. "Damn it man, take it. It's just a damn polishing cloth. More blood aint going to fucking ruin it."
Vincent reached out with his flesh hand, delicately plucking it from Cid's grip. "...Thank you."
"Crap man, cheer up. You look like you just killed someone's kitten, or some shit."
Vincent gestured helplessly, not at all sure how to express his current distress, not at all sure he wanted to explain how the smell of blood repulsed him...how it excited him. No...he wouldn't share that second part. It was something too personal, something despised. Something he didn't want to acknowledge himself.
So he made a show of scrubbing at drying, thick blood, hoping he could explain the goose bumps away as disgust...
Blood had a rather particular odor to it, instantly recognizable once one got familiar enough with it. The familiarity, more than the presence of the fluid itself, was what was bothering Vincent. He could feel the clammy, thick substance gumming his shirt to torso, he could feel it weighing down his coat, drying under his nails, and what bothered him most was the fact he could smell it.
There was a chunk of flesh skewered at the end of one long bronze claw. With an obsessive fastidiousness Vincent worried at it, determined to remove such blatant evidence of a rather hands on brand of violence.
He imagined he could smell that too, slightly rotten, thankfully musky in a way no human was. At least it wasn't human flesh, wasn't human blood. If he had to claw and tear his way through his opponents, it was a small grace they were not human.
At least the red wasn't going to stain his coat...
There was a distance between himself and those who fought beside him, not always a conscious one, but in times like this, when the sickly sweet scent of blood saturated the air, mixed with the putrid tang of torn organs and waste, his companions took a step back, half wondering if the violence was done, if they might not be next.
Not that he blamed them, but right now all he wanted was the blood off of his hand, out of his nails...a thick, molasses slow crimson drip launched itself from bangs he had not realized were sticky, spiked in some sort of macabre parody of Cloud's usual hairstyle. It had an unfortunate trajectory, landing it directly on the tip of his nose, allowing him a good inhalation before falling once more.
He was a fighter, he shouldn't mind this...death should not bother him...but damn there was a difference between the almost casual impartiality of his favored gun and this...carnage. He felt his lip rise in disgust as he shook his clawed hand, sending a disgusting rain of red splattering free. Thick, cooling...he needed it gone. Needed it gone before the sensation teasing at the back of his consciousness made itself known once more....
"Here."
There were a hundred things Vincent expected under the current circumstances, none of which involved a bit of cloth being shoved at him like some sort of awkward offering. Vincent looked up at Cid, wondering what possessed the crass man to get so close...
Cid's face was a study in clashing emotion, a mix of disgust, terror, and concern. His cigarette was clenched between gritted teeth, most likely in danger of being cut in half. When Vincent made no move to accept, Cid waggled the cloth a bit, getting frustrated on top of everything else. "Damn it man, take it. It's just a damn polishing cloth. More blood aint going to fucking ruin it."
Vincent reached out with his flesh hand, delicately plucking it from Cid's grip. "...Thank you."
"Crap man, cheer up. You look like you just killed someone's kitten, or some shit."
Vincent gestured helplessly, not at all sure how to express his current distress, not at all sure he wanted to explain how the smell of blood repulsed him...how it excited him. No...he wouldn't share that second part. It was something too personal, something despised. Something he didn't want to acknowledge himself.
So he made a show of scrubbing at drying, thick blood, hoping he could explain the goose bumps away as disgust...
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