"Well, i put a lot of effort into covering my bases, so yeah. A little concerned. I mean, I've been fucking dutiful about showering at ass o' clock in the morning for two months." And he doesn't really want to show him why, but if he is giving him a kill switch, he can't just do it half way.
"Im- let's talk about this when we get to the point where it matters or it's not going to make much sense. I don't want to have to say this twice."
"That will be about when we reach your room, in case you were dreading it," he says and like a paid comedic actor, that is when the elevator dings. The doors roll open without comment.
Oh, he definitely is. He's never had to be honest about any of this shit before and starting now, because he has to, because he said he would, doesn't make it any easier.
"If this situation were any different I'd say you had a pretty healthy sense of humor," he says dryly and steps out, can see his shitty door with the 6 and the 9 hung under the 0 in a weird sort of upside down v. At least they weren't hanging on only one nail and upside down any more?
"Time to break some magic." And with Vincent behind him, he opens his door, having left it unlocked since he'd gone earlier in the off chance that he died before he could get to this point. The room has been kept mostly clean from when Hanna cleaned it last month, though scattered all around the room is dozens of sheets of paper, his original notes sitting in the tiny kitchen island that served as a table, though the book he's borrowed is stashed on the shelf just in case someone did make their way in, not looking very suspicious at all.
Without a word, Hanna rolls up the large circular rug he'd requested and reveals his handiwork, a rather masterful rendition of the Halo of the Sun on his floor in red sharpie, crisp lines and perfect swirls. For free hand and being a fucking idiot, its obvious he's good at what he does at least.
"One may doubt my 'moral fiber'" and his tone says he doubts such a thing exists, "but never doubt my sense of humor about it. After all, after a point, it's the only defense against madness, no?"
But he looks at the Halo on the ground, and Hanna can watch as he reaches down and just as he'd done in the garden, Vincent's finger seems to shift between one second and the next, like the refraction through water, and the tip lands atop a red curve.
He looks up.
"I can't fault your craftsmanship, at least. I appreciate the precision."
"I dunno, sometimes I make jokes in tense situations and all I get for it is punched rather than praised for breaking the tension."
He sets the rug aside, moving into the gutted kitchen of his tiny studio apartment and grabs a large bowl, setting it on his bed with its shiny new bedframe and sighs.
"Accuracy is like, a core tenant of my magic. You won't get shit if it isn't drawn right." Which, he feels is probably true of most symbol based magic, but he could be wrong. He played scribblenauts, that shit was wild sometimes.
Shifting nervously, walks the short distance to Vincent, standing just on the other side of the large circle, barely having been hidden by the 6' diameter rug. "So. Um. Do I gotta go first or you got some steps in-between?"
"Having a sense of humor and sharing it with others are two different things. You would get punched less if you were more judicious with whom you share with."
He looks up.
"I can explain what I'm going to do first, if you'd like."
"Yeah but sometimes even if I get punched, they might appreciate it later. Makes it worth it." At least to him it does.
And, with the option to just stare at him or learn, Hanna is going to pick the one that at least isn't silent. "Uh, yeah. That'd be good. And if I can help, let me know."
"You think encouraging people to abuse others to process their emotions and frustration is helpful?"
He huffs, shakes his head.
"I disagree. Now..." He breathes out. "Once you're dead, the power connected to the sigil will be disconnected. Similarly to how one might turn off the breaker for a section of the house to do electrical work, I should be able to dismantle and undo the manifestation once the energy is cut. It involves slowly shifting the symbology of the marks to a different sigil and simultaneously lifting the inhabitants here from one state to the other. That's what the flowers will be used for. They have a psychedelic property, which can be utilized here."
They also make drugs out of it. Things he isn't going into.
"By the time I'm done, I'll have removed the whole of the sigil and contact both our wardens."
"When you put it like that, it sounds awful. No, I just...it's me. I can take it, not like it hurts that much." It didn't any more anyways, and he can always get over it. Just has to remind himself it probably isn't even about him, because why would it be? He doesn't actually matter to a majority of the people he helps. It's just reality.
He listens to the order of operations, realizing that learning is off the table if he needs to die first anyways, but...well? That leads him into the uncomfortable part.
"So. Uh, just a warning, this might get a little gross, and I'm sorry about it."
To which he's just going to fiddle with the hem of his sweater and pull it off, tossing it onto his bed so he can maybe ask Vincent to put it back on later after he's dead. The brightly colored button down underneath is oversized, hiding his rail thin body underneath, and he undoes the buttons easily enough, not exactly looking at himself as he undresses. Slipping out of his shirt, the zig-zagged line of his closed skin, held shut with a few staples is revealed along with a few assorted runes that don't look old so much as permanent.
"S-so um, surprise, but ahaha, uh. I have like, schrodinger's organs, so. If you break enough of these lines on a rune, any of them really, I wouldn't last very long."
Obviously uncomfortable, he looks down at himself, trying to spot a specific array, fingers stretching skin, checking each one before he attempts to look over his shoulder, hand behind his back.
"Gimme a sec, gotta remember which one is for my ticker. That'd be less gross way to die than some of these other ones..."
Hanna's defense of his lack of defense makes Vincent's lips press thin but as much as it aggravates him, he's not going to say anything more right now.
Later.
He's going to argue down that idiotic take later.
He watches Hanna undress and there's no hint of anything disgusted or horrified in his eyes as he takes in the wreck of his torso. Instead, he's taking in the runes, considering everything that Hanna has talked about in regards to his magic and what he's hearing now.
"Once you've found it, you should show me, then get dressed again and get in bed. You don't have to die on top of the sigil or anything, no matter how dramatic that would look."
He's thankful there is no follow up as he moves into the bathroom to check the mirror above the sink, giving his body more attention than he has in years. If he doesn't have to think about it, doesn't have to talk about it more, he won't. It can stay where it started, eight years ago.
Finally spotting the proper rune, on his back behind his heart, he comes back into the room and grabs a plain black shirt from the closet, not really wanting to bleed on anything that would be ruined by a little blood.
"Okie dokie, it's this one, right here. You might have to cut a sliver off or something, make a wide enough break in the line, but uh. That's a one way ticket to heart failure, so I'm sure I'll be dead in a few minutes? Ill try not to be so dramatic." Despite how quiet he had been, the discomfort has brought his chipper back full swing, definitely over compensating unlike his usual cheery demeanor.
Putting his shirt half on with the rune still visible he slips off his shoes and hops onto his bed, "ready when you are, Vinny."
Vincent will walk over to the bed and there's a trepidation to his movements; it's all well and good to say all that, but now he has to do it. He has to kill someone with his own hands.
He's never killed someone with his own hands. That's different. It's different. It's a line he's never crossed.
But there are no other hands. And Hanna-
Fucking Hanna.
"Turn, please. I'll cut through as little as possible. I brought a cloth to soak up the blood."
Hanna, despite being an idiot, is at least observant. And he sits there a moment, trying to figure out what to say.
His hand comes up, catching Vincent's sleeve to get his attention. "Sorry, about all this shit. really. Its...like. barely gonna hurt, I promise. And it's not like you have much of a choice. I'm the problem here, and you're solving it." He gently fist bumps his arm, smile barely there but trying, "a real fucking trooper, king of the moment."
And, without much anything else to say, he turns, back to him, eyes squeezed shut, because despite what he said, he knows what it feels like when the magic gets distrupted and that sucks, but he won't be alive much longer after so that's okay.
He tries not to but can't help the flinch at the feel of his hand at his back. It's not like Hanna isn't a huggy, touchy sort of guy, just there are usually layers there over his skin and he's entirely aware of how exposed he is.
"Yeah, well I cause problems," he counters just as he feels the press of the knife. It's quick enough, which means that the sharp intake of breath is all he has time for before the rune at his back flickers a moment as if trying to retain the magic embued in it before it fades to black again.
He's felt this before, his heart stops when a ghost passes through him, the rest of his body stutters, but it's for moments long enough for him to lose consciousness. This takes longer, even if he isn't fighting it, and even though he knows he can't, he tries to breathe but his lungs don't follow suit.
He isn't quite sure if he leans back against Vincent because he tells him to, or if he can't help it, dizziness falling over him like a blanket pairing nicely with the pain in his chest.
Next time he'll be smarter about all this. Next time he won't be so fucking stupid.
Vision blurring, his exhaustion helps him ease into unconsciousness faster than he should and he'll be gone soon enough. No heart beat and no breathing get him quick enough when the magic powering his rotten insides is chipped away.
Vincent is not a touchy feely huggy guy. He has a personal space bubble with spikes most of the time. But he is having an emotion, and it is ruthlessly stomped down so he can situate the black t-shirt and get Hanna settled down in the bed comfortably.
He isn't the sort to be tender but he will make sure the pillows are arranged comfortably.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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"Im- let's talk about this when we get to the point where it matters or it's not going to make much sense. I don't want to have to say this twice."
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"If this situation were any different I'd say you had a pretty healthy sense of humor," he says dryly and steps out, can see his shitty door with the 6 and the 9 hung under the 0 in a weird sort of upside down v. At least they weren't hanging on only one nail and upside down any more?
"Time to break some magic." And with Vincent behind him, he opens his door, having left it unlocked since he'd gone earlier in the off chance that he died before he could get to this point. The room has been kept mostly clean from when Hanna cleaned it last month, though scattered all around the room is dozens of sheets of paper, his original notes sitting in the tiny kitchen island that served as a table, though the book he's borrowed is stashed on the shelf just in case someone did make their way in, not looking very suspicious at all.
Without a word, Hanna rolls up the large circular rug he'd requested and reveals his handiwork, a rather masterful rendition of the Halo of the Sun on his floor in red sharpie, crisp lines and perfect swirls. For free hand and being a fucking idiot, its obvious he's good at what he does at least.
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But he looks at the Halo on the ground, and Hanna can watch as he reaches down and just as he'd done in the garden, Vincent's finger seems to shift between one second and the next, like the refraction through water, and the tip lands atop a red curve.
He looks up.
"I can't fault your craftsmanship, at least. I appreciate the precision."
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He sets the rug aside, moving into the gutted kitchen of his tiny studio apartment and grabs a large bowl, setting it on his bed with its shiny new bedframe and sighs.
"Accuracy is like, a core tenant of my magic. You won't get shit if it isn't drawn right." Which, he feels is probably true of most symbol based magic, but he could be wrong. He played scribblenauts, that shit was wild sometimes.
Shifting nervously, walks the short distance to Vincent, standing just on the other side of the large circle, barely having been hidden by the 6' diameter rug. "So. Um. Do I gotta go first or you got some steps in-between?"
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He looks up.
"I can explain what I'm going to do first, if you'd like."
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And, with the option to just stare at him or learn, Hanna is going to pick the one that at least isn't silent. "Uh, yeah. That'd be good. And if I can help, let me know."
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"You think encouraging people to abuse others to process their emotions and frustration is helpful?"
He huffs, shakes his head.
"I disagree. Now..." He breathes out. "Once you're dead, the power connected to the sigil will be disconnected. Similarly to how one might turn off the breaker for a section of the house to do electrical work, I should be able to dismantle and undo the manifestation once the energy is cut. It involves slowly shifting the symbology of the marks to a different sigil and simultaneously lifting the inhabitants here from one state to the other. That's what the flowers will be used for. They have a psychedelic property, which can be utilized here."
They also make drugs out of it. Things he isn't going into.
"By the time I'm done, I'll have removed the whole of the sigil and contact both our wardens."
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He listens to the order of operations, realizing that learning is off the table if he needs to die first anyways, but...well? That leads him into the uncomfortable part.
"So. Uh, just a warning, this might get a little gross, and I'm sorry about it."
To which he's just going to fiddle with the hem of his sweater and pull it off, tossing it onto his bed so he can maybe ask Vincent to put it back on later after he's dead. The brightly colored button down underneath is oversized, hiding his rail thin body underneath, and he undoes the buttons easily enough, not exactly looking at himself as he undresses. Slipping out of his shirt, the zig-zagged line of his closed skin, held shut with a few staples is revealed along with a few assorted runes that don't look old so much as permanent.
"S-so um, surprise, but ahaha, uh. I have like, schrodinger's organs, so. If you break enough of these lines on a rune, any of them really, I wouldn't last very long."
Obviously uncomfortable, he looks down at himself, trying to spot a specific array, fingers stretching skin, checking each one before he attempts to look over his shoulder, hand behind his back.
"Gimme a sec, gotta remember which one is for my ticker. That'd be less gross way to die than some of these other ones..."
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Later.
He's going to argue down that idiotic take later.
He watches Hanna undress and there's no hint of anything disgusted or horrified in his eyes as he takes in the wreck of his torso. Instead, he's taking in the runes, considering everything that Hanna has talked about in regards to his magic and what he's hearing now.
"Once you've found it, you should show me, then get dressed again and get in bed. You don't have to die on top of the sigil or anything, no matter how dramatic that would look."
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Finally spotting the proper rune, on his back behind his heart, he comes back into the room and grabs a plain black shirt from the closet, not really wanting to bleed on anything that would be ruined by a little blood.
"Okie dokie, it's this one, right here. You might have to cut a sliver off or something, make a wide enough break in the line, but uh. That's a one way ticket to heart failure, so I'm sure I'll be dead in a few minutes? Ill try not to be so dramatic." Despite how quiet he had been, the discomfort has brought his chipper back full swing, definitely over compensating unlike his usual cheery demeanor.
Putting his shirt half on with the rune still visible he slips off his shoes and hops onto his bed, "ready when you are, Vinny."
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He's never killed someone with his own hands. That's different. It's different. It's a line he's never crossed.
But there are no other hands. And Hanna-
Fucking Hanna.
"Turn, please. I'll cut through as little as possible. I brought a cloth to soak up the blood."
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His hand comes up, catching Vincent's sleeve to get his attention. "Sorry, about all this shit. really. Its...like. barely gonna hurt, I promise. And it's not like you have much of a choice. I'm the problem here, and you're solving it." He gently fist bumps his arm, smile barely there but trying, "a real fucking trooper, king of the moment."
And, without much anything else to say, he turns, back to him, eyes squeezed shut, because despite what he said, he knows what it feels like when the magic gets distrupted and that sucks, but he won't be alive much longer after so that's okay.
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"You're not a 'problem'", he says, restrained. So very restrained. He wants to shake him. He wants to scream at him.
The knife is just as precise as Hanna's marks. Just enough to disrupt. The cloth presses quick.
"Ease back towards me. I can get you situated on the bed and your clothing straightened."
Despite the anger, his voice is gentle. Soothing. It's like he's a priest who's held the dying before or something.
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"Yeah, well I cause problems," he counters just as he feels the press of the knife. It's quick enough, which means that the sharp intake of breath is all he has time for before the rune at his back flickers a moment as if trying to retain the magic embued in it before it fades to black again.
He's felt this before, his heart stops when a ghost passes through him, the rest of his body stutters, but it's for moments long enough for him to lose consciousness. This takes longer, even if he isn't fighting it, and even though he knows he can't, he tries to breathe but his lungs don't follow suit.
He isn't quite sure if he leans back against Vincent because he tells him to, or if he can't help it, dizziness falling over him like a blanket pairing nicely with the pain in his chest.
Next time he'll be smarter about all this. Next time he won't be so fucking stupid.
Vision blurring, his exhaustion helps him ease into unconsciousness faster than he should and he'll be gone soon enough. No heart beat and no breathing get him quick enough when the magic powering his rotten insides is chipped away.
Killswitch engaged, that sure is a Ex-Hanna.
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He isn't the sort to be tender but he will make sure the pillows are arranged comfortably.
Then he has to get to work.