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Entry tags:
[open] February MANTAs!
Who: Vincent Valentine and you!
Status: Open to all.
Where: Eltrut, Crescent Isle, Temple Ruins
What: Just a spooky man doing some spooky mantas.
Warnings: None! Yet!
Rumor of a mad alchemist:
[Vincent had spent the voyage to Crescent Isle pensive. Pensive for good reason- given the stories about the island's curse. He had no way around it. None whatsoever- but he'd gone regardless. Chiefly, because the man he was tracking's trail had been cold for months. This- what the merchants had said at the market- the descriptions they'd given- the inventory they'd remarked upon him asking after, was the only lead he'd had in a long while. And he'd intended to take it.
Not that he was alone on this endeavour. Since the MANTA board had been updated, all manner of riftfarers- some new, some old, had sought passage toward Crescent Isle. The deck of the vessel that had carried them was brimming with people showing off items, medicines, trinkets- that they'd obtained or purchased from vendors upon Eltrut which had, upon hearing of the task, sought to make some money by catering to the new demand of not shapeshifting.
Vincent had been ambivalent, save for a few stray glances to the more boisterous groups of riftfarers on deck as they (loudly) show off their items. Trinkets, medicines and items that Vincent did not have. Hence being pensive. Yet despite such- he knew. transforming into a werewolf wasn't ideal. But given his history... not exactly the worst thing imaginable. Regardless of the external, he could keep his head. He knew that.
As his eyes scan those upon deck, they settle upon someone vaguely familiar. And so, he observes.]
The House That Watches:
[Upon his wanderings through Eltrut, usually on route to or from a job, Vincent (of course) had taken special notice of the mansion upon the edge of town. Call it reminiscence. Call it nostalgia. Call it something far more accurate- the simple appreciation of a somewhat spooky piece of architecture. Not like the mansion was anything alike the Shinra manor, of course. It wasn't abandoned, nor was it left to time- and it certainly wasn't falling to bits. Yet. There was something unusual about the place. So much so, that Vincent had found himself lingering by the locked gate when he passed- before eventually moving on. As time had went on and he had passed it more and more, he found himself staring unto the grounds. And finally...
Well.
Whoever happened to be in the vicinity of one of his more recent visits might see something shocking. They might see him, from an idle position, leaning against the iron-wrought fence, suddenly move- scaling to the top of the thing effortlessly, and jumping unto the grounds before heading right toward the manor.
How unusual. The question is, would this person follow the trespasser, or not?]
Not So Animal Farm
Fresh feed. As you wanted.
[Clunk. A bucket of a non-specific animal feed would find itself, roughly, to the floor alongside whomever was elbow-deep in caring for the animals. Vincent, personally, had absolutely no intention of doing as such himself. Only in gathering what needed to be gathered- moving to and from varying people doing their good work, intending on providing a supportive, more than anything else, role. And it made sense to him. He had absolutely no skill at repairing anything. No knowledge of animal behaviour- or even any sort of talent at understanding the animals.
Yet he had come anyway. And for what little he could do- mostly lugging items to and from varying areas and carrying messages- he had no complaint about doing it. Yet he seemed somewhat distracted. His eyes flit about the area, as if he's looking for someone, or something. And, as he does just that:]
Was there anything else?
Temple Ruins
[It was a rainy night. Utterly miserable for everyone involved in keeping watch over the ruins and the sleeping researchers. Vincent was utterly drenched- yet he had absolutely no complaints. If anything, this was something which he was accustomed to. Positioned up high in a ruined tower within the Temple's courtyard, shrouded within his sodden cloak and with his knees to his chest, rifle upon his lap, his eyes showed no sign of weariness or tiredness, maintaining their gaze upon the outside of the temple.
The song of the oysters continued. Faint, whispery, almost- and all around them, fading in and out with the constant hiss of the rain. Yet no animals had shown for a while. Perhaps this verse of the song was intended to gather them. Perhaps when the tempo shifted, the temple and all within it would find themselves beset once again.
Perhaps.
Vincent intended on being ready.
He shifts slightly, turning his head to whom was stationed beside him.]
Get some rest. I'll watch for a while longer.
Status: Open to all.
Where: Eltrut, Crescent Isle, Temple Ruins
What: Just a spooky man doing some spooky mantas.
Warnings: None! Yet!
Rumor of a mad alchemist:
[Vincent had spent the voyage to Crescent Isle pensive. Pensive for good reason- given the stories about the island's curse. He had no way around it. None whatsoever- but he'd gone regardless. Chiefly, because the man he was tracking's trail had been cold for months. This- what the merchants had said at the market- the descriptions they'd given- the inventory they'd remarked upon him asking after, was the only lead he'd had in a long while. And he'd intended to take it.
Not that he was alone on this endeavour. Since the MANTA board had been updated, all manner of riftfarers- some new, some old, had sought passage toward Crescent Isle. The deck of the vessel that had carried them was brimming with people showing off items, medicines, trinkets- that they'd obtained or purchased from vendors upon Eltrut which had, upon hearing of the task, sought to make some money by catering to the new demand of not shapeshifting.
Vincent had been ambivalent, save for a few stray glances to the more boisterous groups of riftfarers on deck as they (loudly) show off their items. Trinkets, medicines and items that Vincent did not have. Hence being pensive. Yet despite such- he knew. transforming into a werewolf wasn't ideal. But given his history... not exactly the worst thing imaginable. Regardless of the external, he could keep his head. He knew that.
As his eyes scan those upon deck, they settle upon someone vaguely familiar. And so, he observes.]
The House That Watches:
[Upon his wanderings through Eltrut, usually on route to or from a job, Vincent (of course) had taken special notice of the mansion upon the edge of town. Call it reminiscence. Call it nostalgia. Call it something far more accurate- the simple appreciation of a somewhat spooky piece of architecture. Not like the mansion was anything alike the Shinra manor, of course. It wasn't abandoned, nor was it left to time- and it certainly wasn't falling to bits. Yet. There was something unusual about the place. So much so, that Vincent had found himself lingering by the locked gate when he passed- before eventually moving on. As time had went on and he had passed it more and more, he found himself staring unto the grounds. And finally...
Well.
Whoever happened to be in the vicinity of one of his more recent visits might see something shocking. They might see him, from an idle position, leaning against the iron-wrought fence, suddenly move- scaling to the top of the thing effortlessly, and jumping unto the grounds before heading right toward the manor.
How unusual. The question is, would this person follow the trespasser, or not?]
Not So Animal Farm
Fresh feed. As you wanted.
[Clunk. A bucket of a non-specific animal feed would find itself, roughly, to the floor alongside whomever was elbow-deep in caring for the animals. Vincent, personally, had absolutely no intention of doing as such himself. Only in gathering what needed to be gathered- moving to and from varying people doing their good work, intending on providing a supportive, more than anything else, role. And it made sense to him. He had absolutely no skill at repairing anything. No knowledge of animal behaviour- or even any sort of talent at understanding the animals.
Yet he had come anyway. And for what little he could do- mostly lugging items to and from varying areas and carrying messages- he had no complaint about doing it. Yet he seemed somewhat distracted. His eyes flit about the area, as if he's looking for someone, or something. And, as he does just that:]
Was there anything else?
Temple Ruins
[It was a rainy night. Utterly miserable for everyone involved in keeping watch over the ruins and the sleeping researchers. Vincent was utterly drenched- yet he had absolutely no complaints. If anything, this was something which he was accustomed to. Positioned up high in a ruined tower within the Temple's courtyard, shrouded within his sodden cloak and with his knees to his chest, rifle upon his lap, his eyes showed no sign of weariness or tiredness, maintaining their gaze upon the outside of the temple.
The song of the oysters continued. Faint, whispery, almost- and all around them, fading in and out with the constant hiss of the rain. Yet no animals had shown for a while. Perhaps this verse of the song was intended to gather them. Perhaps when the tempo shifted, the temple and all within it would find themselves beset once again.
Perhaps.
Vincent intended on being ready.
He shifts slightly, turning his head to whom was stationed beside him.]
Get some rest. I'll watch for a while longer.