![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bootyshortsforoldmen) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
etrayalogs2025-01-20 11:56 pm
[Closed] Hank and Vincent’s “date”
WHO: Hank + Vincent
WHEN: After their inbox thread, sometime before the January mission.
WHERE: Hank’s apartment
WHAT: Vincent is coming over to make Hank dinner...?
NOTES\WARNINGS: alcoholism, consensual strangulation, suicide ideation, threats of violence; discussion of cannibalism, self harm, brainwashing, religion, android bigotry, and Hank’s deceased son. Will add as we go!
[Hank got a white button-down shirt at Roxx. It’s all he got there, really, figuring Vincent isn’t worth the effort of new pants and a tie. If Vincent wants to complain about Hank’s slacks, they can bicker about that. At least they’re clean. Not drool-stained and covered in dog hair, like his last pair.
For now, anyway.
He still has no idea what sort of food Vincent is bringing over, but he hopes it’s edible because there is nothing in the fridge except eggdog, dancing in an egg carton.
Which Vincent doesn’t need to see. It’s fine.
There’s a drawing of Hank on the front of the fridge, too, which he realizes might be weird. But oh well. It’s the king of weird coming over, anyway.
Hank hasn’t been drinking much, so there aren’t too many beer bottles to clean up. He gives the table and counters a quick wipe-down, since Sumo likes to get his paws on everything. The kitchen cabinets are already drool-stained from when he shakes his head and gets slobber everywhere.
Beyond that, Hank isn’t sure what to do. He sits on the couch, staring at Sumo laying in his doggy bed.]
Yeah, I dunno what the fuck I’m doing either, bud.
no subject
He grumbles, however, as he returns to the apartments. Honestly, it's a relief that he found the oppressive area that he's presently living. It means less people that he has to interact with on a daily basis and more time to reflect (or scheme, as the case may be).
In any case, he doesn't know what Hank has to cook with and doesn't trust him to have anything he needs. So he brought everything. If he has complaints, they can bicker about that while he cooks.
Steaks did sound good, though. Did he bring a fancy wine? No. He brought a boxed wine because he has come to appreciate those wines a lot. Of course, that means that both of his hands are full.
Still, he could find another way to knock but instead he lightly kicks the door to indicate that he's arrived. ]
no subject
Probably that weirdo at the door, huh, Sumo?
[Hank stares at his lazy dog for a good ten seconds before he’s getting up off the couch, heading over to the front door. Wondering what the hell he’s got himself into as he opens it.
Holy shit. The guy actually went and dressed up. To eat dinner and choke Hank out, which sounds absurd.]
You brought wine? You really going all out, huh?
[He’ll at least try to play the gracious host — for a while, anyway; it’s Vincent — so he takes the wine. Gesturing Vincent inside his abode.
Sumo yawns from his bed in the corner of the living room, but he probably won’t stay there once he smells food.
Hank gestures to Sumo with his thumb.]
My dog Sumo there. [Pointing to Vincent now.] And here’s the weirdo. Now you’re all acquainted.
no subject
[ Vincent pauses to look over what Hank's wearing. His shoulders drop as he rolls his eyes up to look at him and makes a disappointed face. With his hand free, he flicks his wrist in a disapproving manner before entering.
He offers a sneering smile to the dog before looking for the kitchen. ]
Hello, Sumo. Your owner is insane to have brought you here. [ Lifting his hand, he makes circles next to his head but still on that hunt for the kitchen. It probably isn't even that far, but he is making a show of it. ] Not weirdo. Vincent.
At least introduce me properly.
no subject
[Hank rolls his eyes right back at Vincent’s disapproving stare, but he doesn’t mention it. He got a shirt, okay? He got a shirt.]
Wine is wine. It’s not gonna get me drunk — [which Hank hasn’t done since Christmas, admittedly] — but it’s somethin’.
[It’s nice. Not that Hank is wooed, but he at least can cut Vincent some slack. Maybe. He’s still not entirely certain Vincent won’t kill him, but he could say that about most people on Etraya.
And most people on Etraya haven’t brought him wine.]
Yeah, yeah. I’m the insane one. With my whole “I would be a cannibal but it’s just too hard” spiel. Woe is me, the cannibal who could have been.
[Hank gestures through the living room, toward the kitchen.]
Kitchen’s just... Right through there.
[Leading Vincent — with his hopefully not human-based steak — into the kitchen. The room is mostly clean, although this is more because Hank hasn’t been on Etraya that long rather than because he’s good at cleaning. Another few months and his apartment might well be a disaster.
Still, there’s plenty of counter space for all of Vincent’s things. No dog hair! Not till Sumo comes sniffing around.]
You are weird. [Hank says this as he sets the wine down on his little rounded Formica table. Which makes the whole dressing up thing feel even weirder, but hey, Vincent insisted.] You dressed up and brought me wine to choke me out. You sure you don’t make a habit of this? Not a regular Etrayan strangler?
no subject
[ His face scrunches up in mild irritation.
He starts to walk before spinning around. With his free arm, he snaps it out to point his finger at the man's face. ]
One! It is. You really haven't thought of the logistics of it, have you? [ Bringing his hand back, he presses it lightly against his own chest. ] And two! I don't desire to eat people for any deviant reason.
[ So there.
With that out of the way, he is going to go to the kitchen to start preparing their dinner. Just as he said - steaks. He was feeling it after talking about eating people, but then started thinking about eating meat. ]
Am not. [ He calls back as he starts the stove. Pan set on the burner and olive oil is poured into the pan. ] No, it's just you. Anyway, you wanted to make a dinner date of it, didn't you? [ And after all the fussing about his clothes, he rolls up his sleeves to make the whole cooking process easier. ]
Although, I didn't really think about the sides. I just wanted to eat meat and drink some wine.
no subject
Obviously. If you wanted to get me drunk, you would’ve brought whiskey.
[Vincent’s really getting into this whole cannibalism thing, though. Very “he doth protest too much.”]
No, I have not thought about the logistics of cannibalism. Jesus. Really went and let a cannibal into my apartment, huh?
[And having this guy cook for him is such a bad idea, and yet Hank is just letting him go to town in his kitchen. It’s an odd sight: the guy who choked him out in a church, just casually oiling up a pan.]
So what are some “non-deviant” reasons for wanting to eat people?
[Hank asks this as he grabs his whiskey glasses from the cupboard. Sorry, no fancy wine glasses.]
Date thing was a joke. You’re the one dressed all fancy. And you brought wine.
[...And Hank was the one who invited Vincent over. It just seemed easier that way. Vincent won’t have to summon Castiel, or whatever it is he does. Hank doesn’t know if he’d help a second time — or why he would.
Weird people. Weird people abound.]
Just steak is fine. Plenty of food.
[He sits at the table, fiddling with one of the glasses as he watches Vincent cook. Which is, Hank is coming to realize, quite uncomfortable.]
no subject
[ He holds his hands up in his patented dismissive fashion. ]
How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not a cannibal?
[ Vincent grumbles to himself as he continues to prepare their meal. He does, however, click his tongue at the glasses that are chosen but says little to nothing else. ]
Starvation and ignorance.
[ With a little too much cheer, however, he answers the question. ]
What other reason will I have to dress up? It gives the whole event a little bit of whimsy.
[ At least, they agree that steak is plenty enough food. ]
Anyway, have you thought of your three questions? I'll adhere to your rules that I won't ask a favor that is more than what you're asking me. [ Fair is fair, as far as he's concerned. ] Although, you can take this time to really think about them since I do intend to answer as honestly as I can.
no subject
And how do you like your steak, huh? All burnt to a crisp — or barely cooked, maybe?
[Vincent’s clear disapproval — about Hank’s everything — is amusing. It should be irritating, but no. Almost makes him feel oddly young, as if their roles are reversed and Vincent’s the sneering, judgmental old man.]
The more you insist you’re not weird or a cannibal, the more I think you are, y’know. Maybe I’ll save that for my three questions.
[Hank eyes the oh-so elegantly boxed wine. He ponders opening it, even. Just to be annoying.
But for now, he’ll be patient. Unless Vincent annoys him: then all bets are off.]
Guess there aren’t a lot of opportunities to dress up around here. But I dunno — if you like wearing a suit, wear one. And you could always dress up for that mission coming up. Pretend wearing a suit’s your normal.
[Running his finger idly around one of the glass’ rims, he thinks about questions. And answers. No, he hasn’t really thought much about what to ask. Hank trusts Vincent about as far as he could throw him, which wouldn’t be far at all. And while he doesn’t think Vincent would necessarily lie, it’s more that Vincent’s truths feel... odd. Skirting the line between truth and lie.
So Hank doesn’t expect to get any satisfying answers out of the guy unless his questions are carefully worded.]
Have you ever killed someone for any reason beyond self-defense? And I mean physical self-defense, none of this “some guy said my steaks were shit so I stabbed him” bullshit.
no subject
[ He flashes a quick smile before he finally starts cooking the steaks properly. ]
It's such a waste of questions.
[ Vincent does a stage whisper to indicate how silly he finds his suspicions of him being a cannibal. He's somewhat given up the desire to convince him that he isn't weird - because he's not. A man who invites someone else to come over to cook and choke him is also weird. So -- ! ]
I have my set attire for the every day. I think I look nice, but suits are special... I'd like them to remain special, Hank. Wearing them just because takes away the [ He holds his hand out, wiggling his fingers, as he tries to fetch the word. ] novelty.
I've never killed anyone. Not even in self-defense. [ He clicks his tongue. ] Getting all hot and sweaty like that... it really isn't my scene.
[ He scoffs soon after. ] Could you see me fighting someone? Winning? Killing them? Please. [ A beat. ] I do appreciate the belief in me. But I'm afraid that I'll need to ask my teacher to help me train more before I can do anything like that, Hank.
cn: suicide ideation
[Hank tosses Vincent a mocking glare: jaw dropped, eyes thinned. Vincent is really not convincing Hank of his non-cannibal status.]
Not a waste. Or, I dunno — what kind of questions would you ask? Rhetorical there, unless you’re not gonna count it as one of my three.
I don’t really care what anyone here can do for me. [And Vincent has so far struck Hank as the complete opposite. Although his humoring Hank is still confusing — because who would want to choke him out? — but it’s probably a power thing. So: he figures he provides some amusement for Vincent. That’s easier to wrap his head around.] Don’t need things. Everything and everyone I want is gone, or never existed in the first place.
[Except Sumo. Sumo’s here now.
He pushes his glass away, wishing he had the impatience to chug down the boxed wine, but Hank is trying to be good. And it’s not as if Vincent’s done anything particularly weird to push him over the edge — yet. He’s on thin ice, though.]
Guess I understand that — not wanting the novelty to wear off. Guess we don’t know how long we’ll be on that damn train, either.
[See, this is exactly what Hank means about Vincent and his weird answers. Raising far more questions.]
So what I’m getting from that response is that you have a teacher who’s training you to kill. You know how weird that sounds, right?
[Hank doesn’t mean to fluff up Vincent’s ego, but:]
I could see you killing someone, yeah. Hell, you coulda killed me. [And Hank was passed out, anyway; despite his feelings on death shifting since then, it isn’t as if Hank could have — or would have — stopped him.] But you didn’t.
[Gaze shifting toward Vincent now.]
Why is that? Unless it’s gonna cost me one of my three.
no subject
[ Vincent makes soft tut-tut noises at him saying that he doesn't care. ] Except Sumo. [ He makes a small gesture to the large dog - who may start getting closer to him as he puts a steak on the pan to cook.
Salt. Pepper.
Sometimes, to ensure the best outcome, things don't have to be complicated. ]
Exactly. I'd hate to lose what fun I can experience here.
[ His face scrunches up yet again. ]
I don't have a teacher training me to kill. I have a teacher training me to be a little more physically fit. I guess if I am able to kill someone after that... that'd just be an added boon. [ He chuckles. ] I'm kidding.
[ He blinks. ]
I'm touched. [ Humming in response, he doesn't give any real answer to the comment that he could've and didn't kill Hank. At least until he's asked. ]
Since this may become something that we do from time-to-time, I'll answer that one for free. There does have to be a certain level of trust if this becomes a hobby between us, anyway.
[ The sound and smell of the meat cooking makes for an interesting addition as he gives his explanation: ]
I don't see any benefit in it for me if you die, and you also don't want to die. [ He smiles. ] After all, you know, don't you? If you die here, you lose something.
That said, there'd be quite a [ He rolls his eyes up as he thinks of the word, rolling his hand again in the air. ] break in our relationship if you were to die and lose something truly important.
Not just a break... but it'd make navigating living here very difficult. [ He hums. ] So, killing you during these little ... dates of ours isn't ever going to be on the table.
no subject
Consultation, sure. [Is anything from this guy really free?] And — questions you’d ask me, I guess.
[It’d give Hank some insight on what Vincent wants from him, maybe.]
Sounds like you’ve got yourself a personal trainer, then. To help you get fit.
[He says this a little incredulously. What Vincent’s saying might be true — Hank’s bullshit meter isn’t swinging off the charts — but it’s still not the whole truth. Feels more like it’s just barely scratching the surface.
Hank’s not sure he believes Vincent’s never killed anyone, either. He insists on his innocence too much. His alleged frailty, or whatever, despite the fact that he could have killed Hank. Could kill him now, even — slip something weird into the meal.
He doesn’t need to be oh-so physically fit for murder.]
Seems like it’s already kinda become a hobby of ours, don’t it?
[Assuming tonight ends the same as last time. But that’s the thing with Vincent: Hank doesn’t know what to assume, other than for his whacky protesting far too much about weird things. But maybe that’s part of the appeal — the not knowing.]
I kinda did. [Hank is looking down at his glass again, peering at the way his reflection makes his face long. His eyes all big.] I did want to die. Last time. Which was fucking stupid of me, considering...
[He still had Connor then. God, he’d been so stupid. And maybe that’s why Connor’s gone: that one, fucked up night in the church.
And now?
Maybe if Hank is good — whatever “good” means from the AI overlords’ perspective — Connor will come back. And it’s not as if Hank believes that, but he has to cling onto something. Some reason to not let himself become a shell of a person.
Connor and, of course — glancing toward his dog, head raised as he sniffs the air — Sumo.]
It ever occur to you that losing shit might be what I want? [He says this as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.] Maybe I kept saying “oh, you damn freak, you gonna murder me, yeah?” ‘cause I wanted you to.
no subject
Even if I had the strength to knock you out, there still would be a sharp pain felt before the blackout. [ He glosses his fingers over his own chin. ] And then you'd have a rather nasty bruise that you'd have to explain.
[ His shoulders does the usual bounce. ]
I honestly didn't want to worry about it, but it seems like I can't remain idle forever. [ Sprinting across the bridge, he realizes just how out of shape that he is. Even if his body is relatively "fit," he doesn't quite have the stamina to outrun anyway and leave them to die. Unfortunate!
And with people with extraordinary abilities, he really lacks the means to be able to escape a situation unharmed. Which leaves him with only one other option - bluster and preen; sure, they can kill him and it'll be easy, but he'll make them feel stupid for it. ]
And here you told me that you weren't suicidal. I am a little disappointed that you feel that way.
[ Vincent half-scolds him as he finishes one of the steaks. It's set on a plate to cool and he is just about to toss the other one on the pan, but stops --
-- it's a second before he turns the stove off. He isn't even all that concerned if Sumo decides to run around and steal their dinner. (He'll say that steak was Hank's if it comes down to it.)
But he move to close the distance between the two of them. He tilts his head as he looks up at him in an almost fond manner. ]
Here I thought you were just worried. But do you actually want to die? You really want to lose something that might make the Jenga tower that is your existence fall?
[ Vincent... smiles. ]
Do you want to be the first person I've ever killed?
cn: self harm talk, threats of violence
Just assumed it was the same for you. Choking an old man out — some kind of relief. Power. Not that I fought back, so I made it real easy for you. But having someone’s life in your hands like that? [Hank flexes his hands.] Bet it felt real nice.
Violence kind of overwhelms most things, don’t it? Then being blacked out — whether I’ve been fucking strangled or I’ve drunk too much — there’s nothing. Nothing is the goal.
Sure, it hurts. And yeah, you left a goddamn bruise last time, too — [Hank wore a scarf; it’s fine] — but for one, that was gonna happen either way. And two, nobody gives a fuck. It’s me. I’d rather not have to answer any weird questions about my personal life, but nobody gives a fuck, like I said.
[Except Till.
And Connor. But Connor’s gone.]
Guess I don’t get out much — [he really doesn’t, especially not before he got Sumo back] — but you are the weirdest person I’ve met here. And I doubt you’re the worst, but it’s not like people are going around murdering each other.
[That Hank knows of, anyway.]
Hell, your little strangling gig doesn’t seem to have got much attention, either. So what are you so afraid of, huh?
[This is admittedly, and perhaps horrifyingly, the most Hank has yammered on in a long time. Because their whole “mutual hobby” binds them in a really messed up situation, sure. And maybe part of Hank feels like Vincent owes him.
But he owes Vincent, too. It’s not like anyone else was jumping on the opportunity to choke him out — except Castiel, although he never really elaborated on that.]
Dunno why you’d be disappointed.
[Except Vincent seems to be disappointed in Hank’s everything, again.]
I’m old. Seen a lot of shit. Want to die sometimes. [A lot of the time.] Is that so hard to believe?
Pretty fuckin’ ominous how you slap a steak down then ask if I wanna be killed by you. [Hank eyes the steak — just as Sumo starts to get up. Stretching out his legs. Sniffing loudly, or as Hank likes to call it: snifflesnorfing.] If you had asked me that last time, I might’ve said yeah. Shoot. Go for it. Now? I don’t fuckin’ know.
[He stares up at Vincent before looking back down at his glass. Pondering.]
Maybe. You know what? Maybe. Just... not right now.
I asked Castiel to check on my dog in the morning. Didn’t ask him to... I dunno how death here works. How long would I stay dead for? Anyway, didn’t ask him to keep checking on my dog.
[Hank shrugs.]
And don’t you go asking for him to take my dead body to the hospital, or whatever. [He gestures to Vincent with his hand.] You’d better hope I forget you killed me then, because I’d come back and strangle you.
cn: self harm talk, threats of violence
But he focuses on another point: ]
I wonder if that makes it hard or easy that no one cares. So long as you don't make a big mess, you can get away with whatever you like. [ He clicks his tongue. ] But you are right - I'm not the worst there is.
[ He nods along; it seems like death will come from the missions or a monster hiding among them, but he's made peace with that idea. It's better to accept it sooner rather than die like a loser later.
A small hum before he answers Hank's actual question. ]
How should I put it? I can be the weirdest person you or others know, but so long as I'm not a threat, I can live relatively peacefully. There's only so much antagonizing even I'm willing to put with, you know.
[ Especially since he's not capable of killing everyone who irritates him. Especially since he isn't a psychopath who would kill everyone who irritates him. ]
Well, you lied to me. You told me you didn't have those thoughts... but I guess you were just hoping I was a psychopath who would take advantage of you, hm?
[ His eyes close, focusing on a thought, before he turns around. He decides to not comment upon how ominous his actions are, because whatever.
The burner turns back on as he decides it's back to cooking. ]
Maybe, maybe.
[ He waves his hand dismissively as he cooks the second steak. ]
I don't know all the ins and outs of dying here, either. I fear asking too many questions on that point might give people the wrong idea. [ He pauses to look over his shoulder. ] I knew it -- you don't want Castiel to worry about you. You care about what he thinks about you, don't you?
See, this is why you can't really want an end... you still are looking for a connection with people.
cn: mention of Hank’s deceased son
It’s hard and easy. [Hank sighs. Slumping back in his chair.] Feels like shit knowing nobody would care if I were dead, sure. But it makes it real easy to seek out those thrills when you don’t have...
[Sumo. The big lug meanders into the kitchen, nosing at his food bowl as if expecting a nice steak to be plopped right in.]
...Obligations.
[Which is both easier and harder in its own way, too: ever since Hank got Sumo back, he’s been doing better. Hasn’t been blackout drunk. He didn’t even get wasted the day Accelerator told him Connor was gone.
Hank’s just numb. In denial, maybe, that he has the power to change anything.]
Of course I have those fuckin’ thoughts. Look at me. [Gesturing to himself as if that answers anything. Hank assumes he looks pathetic — and part of him thinks maybe that’s why Vincent’s gone along with the whole choking thing.] Yeah, maybe I was hoping you were a psychopath who’d strangle the life outta me. But it’s also a weird thing to just casually talk about — to anyone. “Oh, hey, by the way: I know we’re supposed to magically revive here or whatever, but I want to die over and over until there’s nothing left for death to take.”
Not exactly something you talk about over dinner.
[He says this dryly. Frustrated with himself for talking so damn much — and with Vincent. But again: there’s a weird bond they have, gained via oddly consensual strangulation.]
Sure, yeah. Looking for a connection by making sure a stranger doesn’t have to deal with my dead body. Isn’t that just the right thing to do? Death is...
[If there’s one thing Hank isn’t going to talk about with Vincent, it’s his son. So he pauses, trying to wrangle his thoughts into something coherent that doesn’t mention Cole directly.
He’s annoyed, too. That Vincent hit the nail on the goddamn head. This is why he doesn’t talk to people about his problems: because they start reading the pages of his fucked up book, and they start putting the pieces together. They start making sense — out of him.]
It isn’t pretty. What the people left behind gotta deal with. So if that’s “connection,” okay.
[Castiel kind of reminds him of Connor, in a way. Awkward. Curious. Hank just assumed him being there at the hospital when he woke up was because Vincent told him to.
It’s not like Castiel cares. Why would he? But Hank does.]
Do you not find it appealing? How we can just supposedly die and die until there’s nothing?
[The steak smells good, at least. Despite their dreary topic of conversation. Sumo thinks so, too: turning his big head to Hank. Those dopey eyes.]
no subject
[ And Vincent would have missed out on someone who is into consensual strangulation. He shifts around to glance towards Sumo. He certainly isn't as endearing as Heathcliff is, but the dog will do. ]
I take it back. Your owner needed you. So stay safe all right?
[ Back to cooking. ]
You look fine, Hank. Far better than what you believe yourself to be... although, I do think that you'd like to be considered useless for reasons I'm not quite sure. [ He holds his hand out toward the food. ] And yet, here we are ... though, it isn't dinner. It's just the prep time before eating.
[ His eyes flicker from the steak over to where Hank is and back. ] I'd say it is. It's sincerity even if it comes from a place of simply not wanting to be a burden to someone else. Yet I don't hear you not wanting to be a burden on me. [ He forces a frown into his words rather than the chuckle that he feels shaking in his throat. ]
I find it to be Hellish. My religion considers immortality to be a curse and divine punishment upon humanity. Resurrection is a step toward penance, not a reward.
[ He pauses to push his glasses up with the tip of his index finger. ]
There will be no peace found until you accomplish what you were set to do. [ Again, the burner is shut off. The second steak was cooked. He sets it on the same plate as the first. Glancing toward Hank, he rests one hand on his hip. ]
Go on, then, set the rest of the table, please. Not just glasses for us to drink.
no subject
[Hank squints, looking from Sumo to Vincent. He’s not wrong: Hank needs his dog, and he hasn’t even really contemplated what he’d do without him here. Especially after Connor got zapped away.
He almost calls Vincent “weird” again, but for an entirely different reason: weird because he’s actually kind of sounding not like a psychopath. But Hank will lay off — this one time.]
Now you’re just sweet-talking me. [With all this telling Hank he looks “fine” and trying to dig into why he wants to feel useless, or whatever. Vincent will just have to keep wondering that, because Hank has yammered on enough tonight. Enough for a lifetime.]
You’re different. Still feel like you’d stab me in the back if you really wanted to. Because... hell if I know. Because it’s amusing, I guess.
[Hank does head toward the cupboards, though. Starts digging around: he mostly only has two of each dish, like the glasses. Not because he has company over often, or ever, but so he won’t have to clean all the time.]
Thanks. [He says this, very intentionally, while turned away from Vincent.] For cooking. If it doesn’t end up being poisoned or human flesh, I’ll try not to burden you, either. Hopefully the whole “choking out an old man” thing will make up for... whatever inconvenience.
[Sumo doesn’t quite approach Vincent, but he does sit next to him. Gazing toward the plate of steaks — perhaps pondering how he might snatch them.]
So immortality is a punishment, yeah? [Hank sets the table: plates, knives, forks. Vincent seems like the kind of guy who might appreciate fancy cloth napkins, but all Hank has are the thin, disposable ones, which he sets in a stack on the middle of the table.] What about like I said before — us dying so much we can’t remember anything? Assuming that’s how it works. That still sound hellish to you?
cn: brainwashing, loss of autonomy
[ Vincent chimes in response - neither confirming or denying if he's sweet-talking Hank or not.
He breathes out a sigh of irritation at the man's insistence that he would stab him for shits and giggles. ]
I'm not a psychopath.
[ Turning his head, he clicks his tongue. He clicks it again when he thinks it wasn't loud enough for Hank to hear the sound.
At the very least, the plates are on the table so he can distribute the steaks and take his seat. He breathes in happily as he pours himself a little more wine. ]
You're welcome. [ But his expression crumbles to exasperation at the idea that he'd poison him or feed him human flesh. ] Keep pushing me and maybe one day it will be. [ He tilts his head to the side and smiles wide and friendly.
He lets his face settle into a neutral one as he clasps his hands together in prayer. ] It's a reasonable transaction with a payout that satisfies both parties, so I believe that we can consider the matter a net gain for both of us.
[ His eyes close as he settles into praying. He does open one eye to offer a quick: ] Shhh. [ And closes his eyes again - it's a short (or long depending on how it feels) pause before he opens his eyes, again. ]
Anyway, I assume that is a more comfortable Hell, but still Hell. [ Knife in hand, he starts cutting pieces of meat. ] After all, that means those that remain get to remake you however we feel is right... for your own happiness... for our happiness...
Someone else could very well decide who you are. [ Gesturing with the knife. ] You could end up sitting with your head bowed in reverence to a god you've never prayed before yet now are bound to because enough words were whispered into your empty head.
[ He chuckles as he cuts the rest of his meat into proper bite-sized pieces. ]
no subject
So if I do ever want someone to poison me, I know who to ask. Got it.
[Which is a joke.
Mostly.
Hank still can’t exactly wrap his head around how what they do is a “net gain” for Vincent, but he’s not going to argue. He’ll take what he can get.
He is quiet as Vincent does his little prayer thing, and Hank wishes he would’ve poured himself some wine beforehand. But he can wait — that seems like the polite thing to do — even though the prayer feels like it drags on.
Probably due to the awkwardness. Hank’s not religious and he hasn’t seen anyone here pray, or anything like that — till now.]
Guess I feel like, if I ever get to that point, I’m not gonna care. Which would be the goal. But I get what you’re saying. Attempting to get away from all this — [gesturing around the apartment with his fork] — with that, well... does sound like hell.
[And maybe that sort of hell will seem worthwhile again, but not today. Hank has been doing better. Really. Sort of. All this talk with Vincent just has him pondering.
He’d refused earlier, anyway. When Vincent asked if Hank wanted to be the first person he killed — whether he meant to carry through on that or not, who knows.]
What’d you cook the steak with?
[Not that Hank is that suspicious. Mostly curious. He starts cutting up his meat into smaller pieces too, eyeing Sumo as he plops himself down next to the table. Right by Hank’s chair, as if to prevent him from getting up without an offering.]
no subject
[ Cute joke.
Vincent does appreciate Hank being quiet and not interrupting his prayer. He also appreciates that he doesn't ask too many questions about it afterward. ]
Who's to say? Do you think that you wouldn't care? Perhaps, it just means that you've lost all that's important to you, but still be yourself. You just know pieces of you are missing.
[ It's a fascinating topic, really; he wonders at what point a person just breaks. Is it the first time? The seventh? Will they be as he said - themselves but less? Or will the tower that is their identity fall? What would Echo do with them? ]
Could you even be considered a representative of your universe at that point?
[ His shoulders lift in excitement but he soon makes a soft noise to indicate he acknowledges the question that he's being asked. ]
Olive oil. Salt and pepper. I don't agree with overcomplicating cooking.
[ Vincent overcomplicates everything else for himself, but cooking can and should be simple. It isn't like he can verbally manipulate a steak to be better tasting - it comes down to the meat and process. ]
no subject
I guess that’s what I want — to not care. But like you’re saying, it probably isn’t that simple. Because nothing here ever is.
[Hank sighs exaggeratedly.]
Right when I think I might have an out, too. See, this is why I drink. [Pouring himself a glass of wine now, since Vincent was thoughtful enough to bring some.] Just fucking knocks me out. But it always ends.
[He throws back his wine: because it’s weak and it’s not like it’ll do much. Tastes fine, really. A little rich.]
Dunno if I’ve made it obvious yet, but I don’t care much about this whole “saving my universe” bullshit.
[Or he didn’t. Hank never got to ask Connor about it. He would have told him to be good, though. Probably. But selfishly, it felt as if Connor was negating all the bad Hank was doing. Not that he’s been on a mission yet, but like with the choking thing. Does that make the AI overlords frown on his and Connor’s world? Make it less worthy of saving?
But if Hank is good, maybe that’ll bring Connor back. Or save him. Something. Anything. But what is “good,” and how will he know if it’s ever enough?]
Guess I’ll just go ahead and ask, since it takes two to tango, and everything. [He pours himself another glass of wine. Doesn’t want it to go to waste, after all.] Do you want to save your world? And do you think choking me out on the regular gets you a good grade or a bad one?
[Hank grabs a small cut of steak and tosses it toward the other end of the kitchen. Sumo, predictably, abandons his post by Hank’s side to go chow down, inhaling the meat before licking at the floor.]
Just making sure about the steak. Didn’t want to feed my dog anything — [weird, he almost says] — bad.
no subject
[ A cheery chime back as he stabs another piece. ]
Maybe one day you'll drink your brains to oblivion but as it stands, I fear you'll have to just deal with being part of the waking world. [ He gestures lightly with his fork. ] Although I would be sad to not be able to choke you anymore so I suppose - don't get too mentally sound.
[ Chuckling to himself, he takes a drink of wine. ]
And why's that? We can consider that my second question.
[ Scratching the side of his face, he mulls over the answer to the question if he wants to save his universe or not. ] Truthfully, I'd rather save humanity than the universe. [ A cryptic answer, but it is his. ] And I don't think it gives me any grade at all, Hank. [ Chew. Swallow. ]
I've been mulling over this for weeks and weeks. I don't believe that Aurora or Echo are upholding any system to control us yet we are governing ourselves under the belief that we are being monitored. [ His eyes unfocus. Like the Water Prison. He blinks. ] Our morality may very well be only something we experience but in a vacuum.
[ Setting the utensils down, he starts to gesture fully with his hands. ] Think of it like this - we're all from separate universes with their own code of conduct, so to speak. We've been under the belief it's the same, but what if it isn't? What if our morality is only built upon what we feel guilt about? What do we know to be sins? If we feel nothing when we do something, perhaps, God will also not view our actions as evil.
[ And up come his utensils to start to eat, again. ]
Nothing's been done to the steaks. You can safely feed it to Sumo.
no subject
Yeah, you say that now — till our food starts turning into lobsters again like at that stupid cook-off a few months back.
[Hank warily eyes his steak, half-jokingly: not that he thinks Vincent tampered with it, but because maybe the RoboCops did. Guess they’ll just have to find out.]
Careful there, Vincent. Keep talking that way and I might think you’re warmin’ up to me. [He has to laugh at the whole “don’t get too mentally sound” thing, though. Which is dark, but it fits — whatever the hell they are.] Would be sad not to be able to choke me anymore, huh? And here I thought you were just bored.
[Pointing with his fork right back at Vincent now.]
Dunno about your world, but mine’s pretty fucked. [It’d been getting better when Hank was zapped away, sure. But how long might that last? Humanity always makes the same mistakes, time and time again. Hank included.] And saving my world would mean another gets blasted, right? Pretty messed up burden.
[Hank doesn’t mention that, if he had Sumo and Connor here, he could maybe make that sacrifice if asked.
But Connor wouldn’t want that. But Connor also isn’t here, so all these shitty decisions and responsibilities lay on Hank’s shoulders now.]
So, if you’re not getting dinged for the whole choking thing, then neither am I. [This comes out as a half-muttered cope. Hank definitely feels dinged — and that he should be.]
Was kind of surprised when I got here. How people weren’t going around murdering all over the place, or whatever, especially with how we just come back. [Allegedly.] Haven’t seen people smackin’ each other around, either. When you take away that “code of conduct” we’re all used to — from whatever world — yeah, why not?
[He circles the rim of his glass with his fingertip.]
Not saying I want that, obviously. But when you grab a bunch of people from all over the multiverse, or whatever the fuck, and you just plop ‘em down — there should be chaos, shouldn’t there? Why are we eating steak together when we could be going all survival mode?
[This really isn’t the conversation Hank imagined having with Vincent tonight, but to be fair, what he imagined mostly consisted of eating steak and passing out while being choked. As if nothing beyond that existed.]
If we feel nothing when we do something — assuming you’re talking about hurting someone there, bud — I imagine God would be kind of weirded out.
[Not that Hank should be talking about religion. He is the last person who should be talking about it, and with Vincent’s whole prayer thing earlier, he seemed pretty into it.]
Sure, sure. Just wouldn’t put it past the RoboCops to do something to piss me off.
[Sumo wanders back to the table as Hank leans down with another piece of steak. Once more he inhales the food, looking from Hank to Vincent for more.]
no subject
[ A casual reply as he stabs a few more pieces to eat. ]
Why does everyone think I'm warming up to them? Perhaps I should start biting people. [ He gives a small shrug of his shoulders as he finishes the bite he has. It's followed by a brief moment of lifting his glass to Hank. ] Either way, you benefit.
[ His mouth twists into a smile. The state of his world is going to be where Paradise and Hell will be one and the same. God has been driven insane and salvation is no longer possible for mankind.
He breathes a laugh out his nose. ] How bad is it?
[ A sip of wine. ] Depends on how you view the choking thing, I suppose. Does it make you feel guilty? Do you feel like maybe it's something you shouldn't be doing? Will you eventually look upon this time and regret your decisions?
[ He takes a sip of wine. His head tilts back as he breathes out a pleased sound.
Happiness isn't something that he regularly feels or has experienced to any great degree. The only positive to still being alive is that he might actually maintain a feeling of joy, but as it stands, he always has a sense of dread in the back of his mind; something gnawing away at him that ruins any moment of peace he might feel.
A sensation that something is going to happen; someone is going to harm him; his plans are going to fall apart; if he prays enough, perhaps, his soul will be saved. His hope was to live out his days in his fog-covered town, but that got dashed to pieces.
He blinks and offers another smile. ]
I believe it is the fear that anything that we do that could be "bad" by our moral standards could end up damning our entire universes. The idea you're being watched is far more threatening than actually being watched, at times.
[ A small shrug. ]
Some sins are sins, but some actions are simply not. [ He wags his fork. ] If someone kills another in self-defense, are they destined for Hell? In my universe, there are laws that say they are not. However, those are the laws of man in order to exonerate guilt that may be felt in an action.
[ His head tilts in a way to say: "that's that." ]
God will lead the believer and non-believer to the Road to Paradise, but everyone will travel down their own road of penance. Unless they decide they don't wish to walk it.
[ Of course, unlike other religious beliefs, God made Hell for mankind. Because God loves everyone but has no mercy in Her heart, either. It is what makes Her so terrifying - to love so completely yet cruelly. ]
And that's fair.
cn: discussion of android bigotry
Few months back, yeah. [Hank grumbles this, because Vincent's right: time should stop moving. Do they age here? Is Hank going to be an old-old man here?
Ugh.]
Was a joke. [The only person who’s warmed up to Hank here is Till. Accelerator, maybe, but they mostly just trade “fuck you”s back and forth.] Only use you’ve got for me, I figure, is the whole choking thing.
So don’t you — [Hank turns his knife toward Vincent] — go and actually warm up to me.
[Because Hank still thinks Vincent is weird, for one, but also because he doesn’t need someone dependent on him, much less someone who likes him.
Hank doesn’t need someone to expect anything more from him than what he is: an asshole. Selfish. Maybe not drunk all the time now, but forever on that cusp.]
And like I said before: you bite me, I bite you.
[Which is also supposed to be a joke, but he still doesn’t know all that Vincent is capable of. If Hank hears about some weirdo going around biting people, well, at least that won’t be too much of a surprise.]
My world is fucked in the sense that humanity is never gonna learn from its mistakes. Androids were — [still are, hopefully] — on the path to freedom, and all that. But it’s always gonna be somethin’. Some excuse for them not to have some right that everyone else has got. And then once androids are finally accepted, it’ll be someone else. It’s always just... fucking something else.
[This thought alone is enough for Hank to pour himself another glass of wine and chug it down.
How does the whole choking thing make Hank feel? He tries not to think about it too much. It feels good to let go. It hurts. It’s a little terrifying, not trusting the one who’s doing the choking, but it’s not as if there’s anyone else Hank would trust with that.
The only thing Hank feels he’d regret about the whole shebang is if someone were to find out about it and be upset. Particularly someone he cares about. But as long as he keeps the people here at arm’s length, that hopefully won’t be much of an issue.
He can’t tell Vincent this — or he doesn’t want to, since it’s another example of his whole “you care what others think of you, blah,” — so instead, Hank says:]
Just don’t go blabbing and we can keep this good thing we got going, yeah?
[In truth, there really hasn’t been guilt beyond the fact that someone might find out. Connor. Till.
But Connor’s gone, and as long as Till doesn’t find out, it’ll be fine. Probably.]
Sure, you’re making sense there. Guess the fear of surveillance is mostly doing its job. [Although Eddie here on Etraya has been a particular weirdo, more-so than Vincent — as far as Hank knows.] Still. Not used to that always being the case.
And yeah, the threat of our worlds being destroyed is — [allegedly] — hanging on our shoulders.
[Hank shrugs, rolling his eyes as Sumo starts nosing around Vincent’s chair. More steak? Steak for the starving boy?]
You still think God works here? You think God would let all this happen?
cn: religious nonsense
He rubs his eyebrow with his ring finger, feeling a mild headache coming on. ]
Well, you're right -- and that's also the only use you have for me, right?
[ A mutually beneficial relationship without concern about warming up to anyone in it. They can discuss their problems easily because, well, it's talking to someone who is not invested and doesn't care about what is happening.
He hums, thoughtfully and happily, before taking another bite. ]
Fair enough.
[ He listens along to what Hank has to say about his world. His expression falls to something incredulous as that hardly sounds like the world being "fucked," but he supposes the man needs an outsider's perspective. ]
It's interesting, but that's just how society is in my world. Everyone needs something to complain or make worse for someone else or it doesn't work. What is it? The city of Omelas? Only no one walks away from it when they see the suffering, because personal happiness is far more important than injustice.
[ He lifts his glass of wine before drinking. Letting out a small sigh, he sets it down. ] Aren't you feeling disillusioned because you felt more would want to walk away? I think that it's just human nature.
[ He also thinks Hank would feel terrible if his universe did end up being destroyed despite being so disillusioned and angry with its workings. ]
I have no intention of "babbling" about anything. [ His eyes drift to the side as he recalls telling Chrollo he choked someone out, but he didn't say "who" so he is fine. Another casual drink of wine. ]
It's because the threat wasn't big enough for people to behave. [ The glass is set down. ] As soon as people realize that we're not being watched and our morals are being viewed in a vacuum -- [ He frowns and shrugs. ] -- I can't say how things will go from there.
[ His eyebrows lift. ]
I believe God isn't here. If She was, things would be going much differently. Especially for you. [ Fork pointed at him. ] God views the suffering of people seriously, but She will one day choose to descend to usher us to Paradise.
However, it isn't a Rapture like some religions believe. It's a road to Paradise... and that road that people walk is one of penance for their sins. [ A smile. ] If they don't want to walk it, Hell is right over there. [ He makes a small flourishing gesture to his right. ] And I think some would choose eternal damnation over having to face what they've done in life.
Penance and Hell can feel the same to a truly rotten soul, after all, because they have to experience true penance before they are allowed to stop walking.
no subject
[Hank understands what Vincent is getting at — they can be just this, whatever the hell this is, exactly — but he still offers a mock frown.]
Hey, no. You made me steak. You’ve got your uses.
[It’s a fine steak. Hank could get used to this sort of thing — not that he should let that happen. And while he can’t imagine all their choke nights turning out like this, it would be nice to have more familiarity here, wouldn’t it? Something predictable.
Except that’s still a sort of reliance that Hank doesn’t want to succumb to. Because what if Vincent one day says no?]
Sounds like your world’s pretty fucked too, then, huh? [Hank waves his fork, mirroring Vincent’s motion albeit more dramatically.] Or, let me rephrase that: society. Society is fucked.
Glad to hear you’ve kept your mouth shut. [He has his freshly filled wine glass tilted to his lips so that he can drink right after he says:] We got a good thing going here.
[Do they? Hank thinks back to what Vincent said about guilt. There’s none right now, not a drop, in a very isolated sense. If he can think about what they do as if they’re the only people on Etraya, then it feels... almost comforting, oddly.
But again: not something he should let himself rely on.]
How long have people even been here, though? How long has this fucked up game been going on? [Neither Connor nor Accelerator said exactly how long they’d been here, not that Hank can recall, but with how much they seem to know about the intricacies of the place, he assumes it’s been a long while.
Or maybe Hank’s just been too drunk to bother probing Aurora for answers, too pissed off to sift through her vague bullshit.]
What if Aurora and Echo-whoever’s bullshit has been going on for years and years, and people still haven’t turned to murder and all sorts of fucked up shit?
Maybe people are in and out of here too fast for that realization to set in.
[Maybe that’s why Connor’s gone: because he got too used to the place. Knew too much. Couldn’t have him blabbing all his secrets to Hank.
Maybe it’s not Hank’s fault at all that he’s gone — nothing he’s done, anyway. None of the actions he’s taken.
Hank doesn’t believe that, but he’s quiet for a while. Thinking. Trying and failing to wrestle with some of that eternal guilt.
After a while, he asks:] You said if your God were here, things would be different for me. What d’you mean by that? Or do you think She’d make me do that penance walk right off the bat?
cn: more religious nonsense
Society will be as it will be. [ It's why he grew tired of living among "outsiders" and decided to return home to Silent Hill. ]
Yes, we do. So let's both make sure we don't do anything to ruin it.
[ He adds a soft hm to indicate that he hopes Hank won't feel the need to tell anyone about this. Albeit as some cry for help from someone. Vincent may sprinkle in some words of wisdom here and there, but he'd like for him to remain the broken-down creature that he is. ]
Who's to say? I haven't been keeping track of days myself. It seems like a pointless endeavor. [ Vincent recalls someone asking him how long he's been in Etraya and he responded that he didn't have a clue. What sort of lunatics keep track of days in a situation they find themselves in? ] It's also a good way to go insane.
[ He lets out a small sigh; it looks like he doesn't have that much steak left. Really, he should have been savoring it more, but he let himself focus on the conversation and lost the point of dinner. Sad. ]
Maybe? And if that's the case, so what?
[ Vincent was dead and now is alive.
If they return him to being a corpse, he has something more to contend with than just what is going on in Etraya. He has an afterlife with a deity that has lost Her mind - and figuring out how to save himself under the guise of saying it's for humanity.
That's far more frightening than whatever might be going on in the city.
It's like the analogy: imagine a bird rubbing its beak on a mountain made of diamond; it chips and chips and chips away until finally the tip of the mountain is a little flatter. And once it has done that, only a second of eternity has passed.
He can't give a shit about what machinations Aurora or Echo might be doing when eternity is awaiting him. ]
We're both people without any powers. [ A small sigh. ] This is probably where your depression is coming from. You weren't able to save the androids from their suffering and you're once more in a situation where you're helpless to stop the suffering of others.
[ Oh well. That, too, is life.
But he is going to start savoring his food, at least. He takes a bite and sits to really enjoy the taste of it. His eyes close but open as soon as Hank asks his questions. ]
Are those your last two questions for me? I've been nice and let you have a lot of freebies, but I think I'll have you actually think of what you want to ask me, Hank.
no subject
[Hank rolls his eyes at Vincent’s comment about society — despite him being right. It’s not as if Hank has power over that, neither here nor back home.
But it’s annoying that he’s right.]
You choke me without being weird about it — [more than so far, anyway] — and we’re good.
[He says this as if Vincent would be to blame if their little choke nights came to an end. Which might very well be the case — but for as odd of a duck as Vincent is, Hank feels like it’ll probably be himself fucking this up eventually.
That’s what Hank does. He fucks things up.
When Vincent says “so what,” Hank doesn’t tell him he’s thinking of Connor. Of excuses. Of his greed in wanting to lessen his guilt while he’s here: maybe Connor was here too long, or learned too much. And Hank can’t hope to match Connor’s curiosity, but if that could get him off this hellhole — the presumed threat of him passing on what he knows — then he can at least try.
Again, Hank ignores Vincent when he mentions the androids: about wanting to keep others from suffering. Because he’s right, and if Hank hadn’t gone on all these tangents, there wouldn’t be anything for Vincent to be so right about.
Goddamn.]
Guess you can swap it to just that one: the hell do you mean by the whole “things would be different” for me if your God were here? And a final question, since you’ve been so damn generous. Then you can consider yourself owed whatever-the-fuck.
[Mostly Hank wanted to get a feel for Vincent’s character, and he has. Still wouldn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. But if Hank ever woke up after one of their choke nights and Vincent had done something weird, like lock him in a cage...
He would be disappointed. Pissed off, but disappointed.]
What d’you get out of the whole choking thing that makes it all worthwhile? [Assuming Vincent doesn’t have any particularly nefarious plans for the rest of the evening.] Dragging your ass down to that church. Choking me out — when you were sick. Making me a damn steak and listening to me yammer on and fuckin’ on.
[If their roles were reversed, Hank might have shoved his steak in his mouth and flipped Vincent off before leaving. Because he’s old and rambling and he did ask a lot of questions, in truth. And Vincent, to his credit, answered. Even if what he said wasn’t satisfying.
Or it hasn’t been what Hank wanted to hear, maybe.
Regardless, Hank pours himself another glass. How much more of that boxed wine do they have left? Could not even get him buzzed, but at least he’ll feel all warm and cozy when Vincent chokes him out — which he hasn’t really considered the logistics for, but they can figure that out.
He cuts himself a few last strips of steak, chowing down, before he stands up. Patting Sumo’s not-so-patient head before he plops the remainder of the steak in his food bowl. Not that it’s a bad steak — Hank just loves his dog.
Instead of returning to the table, Hank sits on the floor beside Sumo while he loudly chomps at his steak. Back against the cupboards as he looks up at Vincent.]
cn: cannibal mentions
[ Only a few more bites left. He wonders if Hank is feeling regret or anticipation in what's to come. Huffing out a laugh, he savors another piece. It seems like the man's thinking hard about something and with all that they've talked about, he can't even begin to guess what it is.
But it's nice that he thinks about the questions that he wants to ask. He somewhat wishes that he didn't ask about God, but he supposes that's on him. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to misdirect him enough to pick something else to focus on. ]
Things would be different for everyone. God cares and loves people regardless if they're believers or non-believers. She wants them to find peace and will have those with extreme sense of guilt walk the road of penance to save them.
[ Of course, even believers aren't spared the road, but they are given a softer version due to their veneration, prayers, and whatever rituals that they happened to partake in during life. ]
Perhaps the best part is that even after you've walked it, you're allowed to keep living your life with a new zest for being alive. [ Or so broken and harried that he'll spend the rest of his days in a mental institution, but details. ]
As for what I get, I get a sense of control. At the moment, neither one of us has much autonomy even if we're given free time. But we now have control over someone else's life. You also have that power, you know. [ Vincent gestures to him. ]
It feels against my best interests to tell you this, but I feel like you're underestimating your power in this situation. Even if you tell people that we're doing this by your wishes, someone is going to take your side and feel you're being manipulated because I'm the assailant. [ He rests his hand over his chest. ]
I feel like my reputation would end up stained just as badly as if I were a cannibal.
[ Vincent thinks about Hannibal, then, and wishes the man hadn't been spirited away as he was curious how people would respond and act towards him. Would they isolate and ignore his existence because there was nothing else they could do? Would they antagonize and threaten because that was the only power they had? It's a real shame he didn't get to witness it all. ]
Someone who goes too against the grain could end up in a situation where all relationships end up a burden to them. Because good ones have to rely upon goodwill and promises of behavior. Bad ones -- well, I don't have to explain that, do I? In short, the amount of effort put in by one party will greatly outweigh the effort and attention of the other.
[ Unbalanced transactions are ones he hates the worse. Even the one he has with Castiel leaves him feeling anxious because it's too much in his favor. It doesn't feel right and could backfire on him at any time.
He looks down at him. ]
So, consider this a safe place for both of us... you can complain about whatever you like and I can do the same... because in the end, we're just waiting for enough time to pass before we commit mutually agreed violence and don't care further than that, right?
no subject
So, guess I’ve got that whole walk to look forward to, then.
[Because guilt is Hank. There is no Hank without guilt. And he wonders, idly, what that whole “penance walk” might look like — from the perspective of Vincent’s religion.
But he doesn’t ask, because he’s out of questions, as Vincent so thoughtfully reminded him, and it’s probably a weird can of worms to open, anyway.
As if this entire night — their entire thing — hasn’t been Hank prying into shit, especially his own, that’s better left alone.]
Figured it was about control. [Not that Hank feels like he’s wasted one of his questions. Vincent’s answer feels genuine, which says something.] I think you’re overestimating my power, though.
[Which isn’t entirely true. Back home, sure: most people would have thought he was talking nonsense if Hank told them he was being assaulted by Vincent, consensually or not.
But here? People seem more willing to believe, despite the fact that they’re strangers. Or maybe because of that.]
Not gonna go and lie and say you’re taking advantage of me. If anything, I’ll lie to get people to shut up, sure. If it comes to that. Someone comes sniffing around and I’ll tell them to mind their fucking business. [Not that anyone other than Till really cares about Hank, and everyone else will be easy enough to brush off. Probably.] But I’m not gonna throw you under the bus. I asked for this, didn’t I?
[Even if it did start as a joke.]
Of course you turn the conversation right back to eating people. [Hank rolls his eyes.] You almost sound like you trust me with this so-called “reputation” of yours.
[Which feels weird, like something Hank both hasn’t earned and shouldn’t acknowledge, so he keeps talking.]
Safe place, sure. Weird way of putting it. Guess we are just waiting for our “mutually agreed violence.” [Hank reaches beside him to pat Sumo’s back.] Speaking of that — you done eating, or you got more planned for our little date?
no subject
When he sets the glass down, he finally re-joins the conversation: ]
Because it's only fair, Hank. [ Obviously. ] You're putting your life in my hands, and so I have to put mine in yours. I can't imagine you want that to be as literal as what you're doing for me, so I give you something else.
[ He sets the silverware on the plate before getting up from the table. ] No, dinner is about it -- although, I'll do the dishes after I strangle you. It seems only right to not give you more work when you wake up.
no subject
Well, ain’t that thoughtful of you. Why not go the whole nine yards? Walk my dog, too?
[Hank is deflecting again. Trying to make light of whatever this is. Because Vincent is right: he is putting his life in his hands, whether or not Hank really values that life.
And no, Hank doesn’t want that to be reciprocated in the same way. Doesn’t want that sort of power over another person. He prefers the imbalance. Steak and clean dishes for the privilege of choking out an old man.]
Where should we do this? [In retrospect, Hank’s apartment wasn’t the best choice for tonight. But he didn’t want Castiel to have to help. Didn’t want anyone else to see the man he is.] My dog’ll bite your ass if he sees you choking me.
[Sumo wouldn’t — probably — but he might try to intervene if he senses Hank is in actual danger.]
Should’ve given him some of your steak. [Hank shakes his head, feigning a frown.] Then he probably wouldn’t give a fuck what you did.
no subject
[ Vincent flashes a quick smile. Beyond the joke, it's putting another life in his hands - but there's no reason to be overly serious about what's said. Being pedantic is fun, but only in certain situations. ]
Shall I lock him in some other room, then? [ A beat. ] I'll let him out when I leave. I wouldn't want to think of what he'd damage to escape.
[ Ah, the logistics that have to come into strangling a person. He wonders if they should try to find a place.
A smile spreads itself across his face as he barks out a sudden laugh. He jerks forward and then back. Breathing out his laughter through his nose, he pushes his glasses up as the sudden movement caused them to slip down. ]
Seems like the best plan to do things that way.
no subject
Think you owe me considerably for — [Hank shrugs his shoulders] — all this.
[Following along with Vincent’s jab. It’s preferable this way, honestly. If it were someone else in Vincent’s shoes here, things might be even weirder. Most people would feel some manner of guilt, Hank imagines.
What he and Vincent have is simple on its face. Hank can appreciate that.]
Whatever. [He stands, leaning down to give his dog’s head a pat.
Hopefully Castiel will just assume Hank is sleeping when he checks on Sumo in the morning. He’s always made Hank think of Connor, though. Not that Castiel is an android who can do scanning shit — or is he?? — but he’ll probably be able to tell what happened.
Vincent just had to go and involve Castiel, huh?
Hank sighs. Points at Vincent.]
You wait here, weirdo. [He adds that last bit because of that laugh. Hank gets some treats for Sumo. Grabs his water bowl. Then he whistles, leading the dog down to the spare bedroom. Closing the door before he heads back to the kitchen.]
That was the laugh of a man ready for murder, I think. [Hank glances toward the living area.] Couch good? Or you wanna choke me out in some other way? Get all fancy? Dare I say fuckin’ festive?
no subject
[ Vincent decides to relent and agrees that he owes him. For someone without any power or supernatural capabilities, this has been quite soothing to his ego. He isn't a person that others can feel close to and he doesn't want to be close to anyone; the best he can do is ensure that his relationships are transactional.
At the very least, so long as both people are getting something out of it, he won't worry too much about the person's scheming. Everyone schemes; everyone has ulterior motives; everyone is attempting to get a leg up on the person in front of them whether they are an ally or neutral party.
No one wants to feel like they're on the back foot, so by that logic, he's being normal.
Yet as soon as he thinks this, he's called a weirdo as Hank wanders off with his dog. He uses the back of his hand to lightly shove the plate across the table. Not hard enough to knock it off to shatter, but enough that he can display his annoyance at the name. ]
It's a laugh of someone having a good time. [ He corrects. ] I thought you wanted me to put you in a specific stranglehold. But the couch should be fine. [ He hums. ] If you want festive, next time I'll dress up for the holiday... if it's close to a holiday.
[ Anyway, he's up and gesturing for Hank to sit wherever he'd be most comfortable. ]
no subject
Can put me in whatever stranglehold you want — as long as it gets us to where we wanna go. [Hank raises a brow.] You been researching how to strangle a man? Hitting up the library? Figuring out your little recipe for the perfect murder?
[This last bit is a joke. Sort of. Whenever he finds something that annoys Vincent, it’s like Hank just has to press on it.
But should Hank sit for their little strangling? Should he lay? Hmm. He makes his way over to the couch, sitting as he waits for Vincent.]
Figured it’d be best I have a decent place to rest. Never know how long I’m gonna be out. Don’t wanna wake up on the floor with a fucked up back since it’s not like you — [pointing at Vincent, eyes thinned] — would pick me up.
Glad you’re enjoying yourself here. [Hank mutters this, but part of him means it.] And you know what? Yeah. Dress up for the holidays. Embrace your fuckin’ whimsy, right? And to think: last time, we coulda had you dress up like one of Santa’s little elves. Heh.
no subject
[ What is it that Hank said last time? Something about wrapping his arms around his head? Like a sleeper hold? Too difficult; he should just choke him with his bare hands but he doesn't quite trust his grip strength. ]
I don't think I could pick you up. [ Vincent chimes in return before he takes a seat next to Hank. ] Anyway, you mentioned something like a hold on someone's head and neck. [ Shifting, he points to his own neck. ] Just show me it and I'll properly execute it on you, all right?
[ He tilts his head to the side and glances over his shoulder to flash a smile. ] I don't see why I shouldn't. I'm having a wonderful time, aren't you?
no subject
Oh, yeah. [Hank rolls his eyes.] Just fuckin’ peachy.
[It’s more the catharsis in letting go. Hank still thinks he deserves this, in a way — for his failures, the time he squandered — but mostly it’s the catharsis.
Putting his hands on Vincent, though, is something else entirely. It’s just for educational purposes, sure, but there’s an implicit trust there that gnaws at Hank. Vincent might trust him not to go screaming about how he loves to choke out old men — woe! Vincent's poor reputation — but this is physical.
It’s not a power he wants to have — over anyone.]
Weird guy. Letting me put my arms on his neck. [Which isn’t hypocritical!! Since Hank wants to be choked out.] Whatever.
Arm around my neck, like this. [Hank wraps his right arm around Vincent’s neck, caught in the crook of his elbow. Raising his other arm to cage Vincent in, hand on his head.] Grab your upper arm to help with grip. Apply pressure from both sides around my neck.
[Hank drops his arms. Turns to face away from Vincent.]
And if I die, well — won’t hold it against you. Much. Unless you forget to let my dog out, or you don’t ease me down all cozy-like on a goddamn pillow.
[Assuming Vincent doesn’t try choking the life out of him, there might not even be a trace afterward. Not enough for most people to notice, anyway. Hank doesn’t really mind either way — unless someone sees and asks all sorts of weird questions. So this way is better, probably. Vincent doesn’t have to stare at his face as he struggles to stay conscious, and Hank doesn’t have to add scarves and high collars to his wardrobe.]
Should take a few seconds. Five, ten. Trying to cut off blood flow here, not air.
no subject
[ Vincent chimes in an irritatingly mocking tone after. Which considering what he's allowing might not have been the wisest of things to do. But he's never been anything if not an arrogant person who believed he knew how everything would play out.
It isn't that he felt like he was in control (how could he?), but he feels like he understands the nature of the people he interacts with on a fundamental level. Their core, as it were.
He's been wrong before, though.
His lips curl into a flippant smile as he takes in the hold he's placed in. He rolls his eyes along the ceiling, but listens attentively enough. ]
I think you're worried I'm a killer not because of what I could do to you, but what I could do to your loved ones. [ A calm reply that has nothing to do with what they're doing, nothing to do with what has been said. It is simply something he thought and felt like saying. ]
Then you would have been capable to or with a murderer and your sins would only increase. [ He wraps his arm around Hank's neck, like he had been shown, and cages him in as he was. Vincent can chat as much as he likes as he applies pressure - five or ten seconds left of his musings that Hank gets to enjoy. ]
I never got to ask how people felt about Hannibal... I mean, I know how the victims feel, but what about everyone else? Those that felt close to him... those that felt like they knew him... how betrayed they must feel.
[ Yes, yes, this is much easier than relying on his grip strength. ]
But you won't have that feeling of betrayal if I ever turned out to be that way, will you? Because well, you already know what kind of person I am.
[ Vincent leans in. ] So, don't worry... your dog will be let out and you'll be laid down as softly as I can manage.
no subject
[It makes sense, what Vincent says: Hank worrying about his loved ones. Who wouldn’t? And there’s that other implied truth, too: the fact that Hank doesn’t care about himself. Not really. Because while he might not actively be seeking death at present, death would be both its own form of stress and relief.
What might he lose if he were to die? Something large? Something small?
If Vincent ever did really hurt someone, would Hank feel guilt? It’s not as if there’s some sort of jail to lock him in and throw away the key. And Hank would wonder how he got through their strangling sessions relatively unscathed, for sure. If Vincent were going to kill someone else, someone Hank cared about, why not him?
There’s guilt in that thought, at the very least.
Hank huffs as Vincent gets his arm around him. Won’t really be able to talk shit about his grip like this. Won’t be able to goad him into choking him harder.
Of course the guy chooses to ramble about inane nonsense for the few seconds Hank has left of consciousness. Mumbling about other people’s crimes, and Hank can’t help but feel like he sounds wistful.
Hank grunts: both as a sort of “squeeze harder or I’ll choke you out myself” in addition to acknowledging the whole betrayal thing. He’s feeling dizzy, breathless with the overstimulation of nothing and everything at once. Vision dimming. But that one word echoes in his head: betrayal.
He thinks of Connor again. Would he see this as a betrayal if he were still here? Would it pain him? Perhaps Hank will never get to know, and maybe that’s for the best. A boon for Vincent: if their secret remains as such, Hank will never have to really acknowledge that someone might care for him.
Right now, it’s just him and Sumo.
With those final thoughts — betrayal, Connor, Sumo — Hank’s body slackens beneath Vincent’s grip.
Better fucking let my dog out, he thinks. Pieced together with scattered words.
And then he’s out: Vincent’s problem now.]
no subject
-- since it means he doesn't get to hear the embarrassing noise Vincent makes when he passes out. It's something between oof and ugh; dead weight is dead weight regardless of how physically fit a person is (so Vincent tells himself!).
He gives a shove to push the man off him which works but sadly Hank doesn't do a satisfying faceplant into the couch. The rotation and movement that he shoves him as the man's body fall partially on its side.
Muttering to himself, he gets off the couch so that he can adjust Hank so he's sleeping on his back. That seems fine.
Morality seems like it is a lonely thing in Etraya. There's no sin that's being committed between Hank and him, after all. However, if anyone knew, he is certain there would be upset.
But at who? For how long?
Until shame wells up in one of them to stop what's happening - he wonders. ]
Ah, well.
[ He laments to the room alone before heading back to the kitchen. Dishes. Clean-up. And then letting Sumo out of the room. It wouldn't do to let him out too soon as far as he's concerned; he doesn't know how much the dog might get in the way of his tidying up.
So - hooray - Vincent will do as he said.
Leave the apartment a little cleaner than when he left. ]