Alice sat on a bench, leaning against one of the pillars that stood emotionless on either side of it, twirling a small rose in her hand. She had spent most of her time pulling the thorns off, deciding today was not a day she was going to mutilate her fingers. It was odd, how such a small, insignificant flower could be so captivating.
But, then again, it was not all that insignificant, was it? Some used it for romantic reasons, others exotic. Others simply liked to look at the simplistic complicated design, while, others still, loved it's scent. However, to Alice, it was not any of those reasons at all. She agreed they could be romantic when used correctly, and they were quite exotic, and the way they sprout was captivating, and it did smell quite nice. To Alice, however, they held some kind of childish deeper meaning.
To Alice, that rose was something like a symbol. If one were to look at it, it was red. Red, the colour of royalty. Red, the colour of a desert sunset. Red, like the rubies that often adorned pieces of jewelry and the likes. Red, it was so many wonderful things, yet it was only this rose that ever showed it to her. Oh, there were many roses around her that could of just as easily of have been picked to be this special rose, but it was only this rose that would remind her of such things today.
The rose garden had always been her favourite place to relax at, ever since she had been little. She would often ask her mother to take her to this place whenever they had the time, and more times than not she had gotten what she wanted. There had always been at least one day in the week she had managed to come here, and she still does.
This spot, this is where her mother had always taken her. This is where she had learned to look deeper into the rose than just it's colour and shape, than just it's scent and meaning. This is where she learned that a rose was far more than just a flower. She would always gather flowers for her mother when she had been little, often pricking her fingers in the process, drawing that funny scented warm liquid. It was red, too, but somehow, this little rose didn't remind her of that.
No, instead this little rose reminded her of her mother, and she would always think of it that way. Not because of it's colour, or scent, or any of that, but because to her, they were all different, and each one held a new mystery to unravel. Each one had it's own story to tell, just like the one's her mother would make up for each rose Alice had once picked for her.
"This place is closed, you know that, right?"
Slowly, Alice lifted her gaze to the intruder, still absently twirling the flower. She blinked up at the man, who seemed to be maybe a year older than herself, taking in his appearance. He was definitely not like anyone else she had ever met. The way he walked showed he had an inner agenda, and if he had not wanted anything, he would not have interrupted her. His hair shined golden in the setting sun, but that was not what caught her attention either. No, the thing that caught her attention the most was his mismatched eyes. One was golden, the other a wondrous wine red. She let her gaze fall down to the object in his hand, which was redirecting the sun's light into her face. Somehow, she wasn't surprised to see it was a pair of scissors.
"If it's closed, then why are you here?" she replied, returning her gaze to his eyes.
Alice could tell the man seemed a little surprised, though from what she was not sure. Then he laughed, and took a seat across from her.
"I just like to trim the roses. Someone has to."
Alice raised an eyebrow, imposing the question of who had let him sit by her. The way he watched her was unnerving. Like he was ready to trim her along with roses. Though, considering those scissors seemed to of have been newly cleaned and shined, she doubted he would want to make a mess on them this early on.
"Roses don't need trimming. They look better when they're allowed to grow on their own," she retorted, continuing to play around with the object in her hand.
"I think it's better that they don't grow wildly. They look like a pool of blood from far away if they're all bunched up together. It's better to cut some out and prove they are more than just little red blobs, don't you think?" he asked, opening the scissors and closing them with a flick of his wrist.
"Not at all. I've never thought of them that way. They look more like a soft velvety red blanket from afar, if you ask me."
"I didn't ask."
Alice growled lightly, "Well I never asked you to join me and throw your thoughts at me, either."
"Fair enough. I'm Vincent, by the way." he waited a few seconds for her to respond. She didn't. "Aren't you going to tell me your name?"
"Why should I?"
"I've told you mine."
"I never asked for you to tell me, nor do I care for it."
Vincent laughed again, "I suppose so. You're a lot like this flower, you know."
Alice raised an eyebrow at him, lifting her gaze momentarily, "Really now? How did you manage to come to that conclusion? You don't even know me."
He smirked, "I do, though. Just like that flower, you tend to look innocent and pretty on the outside, calm and collected when the thorns aren't around. But, when you look at the inside of that rose, just like you, it becomes incredibly difficult to understand and interpret. It becomes a puzzle that you want to figure out. Like it's hiding something it doesn't want you to know"
"I fail to see how that applies to me."
"Don't you have a lovely little secret you just want to keep hidden?"
Alice scoffed, "Everyone has secrets. It's not that incredible."
"But are they all lovely?"
Alice frowned, trying to understand what he was getting at. He made no sense to her. Trying to compare her to a rose, with his obvious tainted, perverted look on them wasn't the least bit flattering. Now, he claims her secret is lovely, like he already knows it. He dare to walk in on her and even think of invading her life? Just who was he? Why was he even bothering her at all?
Vincent gave an amused chuckle, "Now you're starting to think of myself as a rose, aren't you?"
Alice scowled, sitting up straighter, "And just what gives you that idea? At the moment, I think your an annoying prick that should just go back to where he came from and leave me alone."
"And the thorns appear."
"What is wrong with you? I'm a person not a damn plant!"
"See? Thorns tend to cause little harm, barely causing pain, but you become aware that they are there. I just became aware you have a temper, which if I put into a colour, is red."
"I do not have a temper! I'm just annoyed that some guy has the nerve to walk in here and start spouting blasphemy at me!"
Vincent laughed, twirling the scissors expertly before leaning over to one side and clipping off a rose. He held it close to the one she had in her own hand and grinned mysteriously at her, "Can you tell me what the difference is between these two roses?"
Alice tilted her head to the side slightly, analyzing the two flowers. The one Vincent held was black, and still had it's thorns, while hers had no thorns and was the usual red. But, those were all just physical differences. She looked deeper into the subject before nodding.
"That black one is sad because it was removed from it's friends and doesn't understand what's going on. It feels alone and insecure, wanting to make sense of everything. The red one has gotten used to being alone and has decided to take comfort in the hands that hold it."
Vincent smiled and leaned back, bringing the rose to his lips. He twirled it around slowly, first one way, then the other. What an interesting girl.
"It's true," he replied quietly, "That such a feeling would be evident, but anyone could make those conclusions."
"Anyone could have said one is black with thorns, and the other is red without."
"Hm. I think I have come to like you. Tell me, which one are you?"
"What?"
"Which are you? The black that is insecure, or the red that takes comfort in what is around?"
Alice leaned back again, looking thoughtful, turning her gaze upwards. The sky was a variety of colours, proving the sun would be setting soon, but the colour that was nearly gone, however still evident, was none other than the colour red. It was then Alice smiled slightly, and looked back at Vincent.
"I'm neither. I'm both. I'm whatever I decide to paint that day. Unlike these roses, I can choose what colour I want to be. I can dance around if I want, or I can lay in bed and mope. Unlike these roses, I'm, not limited by anything. I can do as I please."
"Quite the poet, aren't you? I suppose that is to be expected from one who has chosen blood."
"Chosen blood?" she asked, not understanding at all.
Vincent nodded, "Red is the colour of blood, and blood is, in essence, life. One can not live without blood, and so you have chosen life. Life tends to be full of surprises, just like your answers. Black has always been the colour of death. Ashes, charcoal, charred flesh, they're all black, and so, in essence, are death. Death has no passion, no life. It is nothing."
"But that doesn't mean anything can't be born from death. Look at a phoenix. It's reborn from it's ashes, which is, as you said, death."
"That is but one example."
"I'm but one person."
That had been the beginning of their odd relationship. Often Alice would retort with other outlooks, ones Vincent often found intriguing. It was the only thing that kept bringing him back to that place. He would go there everyday, at the same time, to the same place. He found that she went there once a week, though would walk by the entrance, stare it and smile, before going on her way everyday. Even when he could tell she had time, she would walk by, waiting for that one day of the week.
Every time he met with her, he would pose new questions, new philosophies. Of course, she would give those odd new answers he had never even considered before. It was weird for him. For her to captivate him so much. No one had ever done so before. It had always been the other way around. He was, however, grateful for the fact that his intrigue had let him come to a better understanding of her (even if he still didn't learn her name,) and she he.
One day, it must of been at least two months since they had met, he noticed that the girl was leaving a considerable amount earlier than she did. At least two hours earlier. Instead of only one rose, she had taken two. He wondered absently if all those two's were coincidence, but then again, there was never such thing as coincidence.
"My mother," Alice said quietly.
"Pardon?"
"You're wondering why I'm leaving so early and why I've disrupted my usual routine. The reason is my mother."
"Is she coming over?"
"Maybe if she wasn't dead, she would."
Vincent let out a surprised sound. They way she said that made it sound like she was content with someone that close to be gone. He was about to ask on it, but yet again, she seemed to be reading his mind.
"It took awhile, but I got over it figuring she wouldn't want to see me like that. I guess I am like that rose, and used my thorns just to protect myself, not meaning to do any harm to others. It's funny, but you somehow remind me of her. She had a more positive look on things, but she'd pose those questions to me whenever she took me here," a soft smile spread across her lips as she thought back on those memories, "It was always this day, every week. Coincidentally, this also happened to be the day she died. Exactly at two, too. Not sure what happened—I was visiting my dad at the time. The routine kind of stuck with me, though." she shrugged and got up once again, "I better go. Can't be late. Promised I'd be there by nine."
Vincent nodded, not wanting to keep her away from something so special. It had given him yet another thing to think upon. He silently mused that she was slowly warming up to him, slowly revealing her lovely secret to him, all the while watching her slim form walk away, getting lost in the vast amounts of multicoloured roses.
He turned, facing the nearest bush, bringing the scissors up to eye level and grinned. He slowly moved his fingers apart, the scissors opening with his movements, and turned his grin into a satisfied smile. He often imagined someone bumping into him, causing the sharp blade to pierce itself into his eye, colouring it red like his other.
His eye was red, just like the roses she liked. He wondered momentarily if she would accept a black rose dyed red with his blood. He wondered if she would view it as a red rose, or as a black one in disguise. Wondered if she would be disgusted, like so many others were. He wondered where her breaking point was. What made her uncomfortable.
He lowered the scissors, down to a red rose that sat all alone in the middle of hundreds of black roses. Smiling, he shook his head, and snipped a black one instead. No, not yet, he thought, When you're lovely little secret is shown, then I will cut you out.
He had been doing this everyday. Cutting the black roses out, waiting to be able to cut out that outcast in the centre of them all. He thought that her mother might have been her lovely secret, but it wasn't that at all. He would not stop torturing those plants until her lovely secret was revealed, he promised himself that.
It seemed that she truly hated him. No matter how many times Vincent asked her what her name was, she would not tell him. She'd laugh and say that she shouldn't be telling strangers such things, yet when he replied she knew his name and him, she would reply all she knew was his first name, and nothing about him.
"Compared to what I've told you about myself, you're a complete stranger," she'd say, "I don't know where you're from, where your parents are, if you have siblings, or any of that. All I know is you're Vincent, and you like to cut stuff."
He didn't deny it. It was true. He had cut out two more roses out after that meeting before coming to a decision. He would make the score fair and reveal everything about him to her. As usual, he awaited for her arrival, which was due to be any second now. Five to be exact. She always incredibly precise with her timing.
One second to go over what he was to say in his head. One second to come up with a few counter attacks to any snide remarks she would make. One second to abandon the scissors. One second to collect himself. One second to spot her. As though on cue, she arrived around the corner, a new rose in hand, walking slowly, ripping each thorn off individually, being careful not to cut herself.
By now, Alice was completely used to finding that man there. She barely noticed him anymore until he spoke. Even then, it took a lot to focus on what he was saying. She figured today would be the same as any other. But it seemed that this day was going to be different. It was full of surprises. He didn't start off with some impossible question as he always did. Instead, he got up, and bowed in front of her. She felt an eyebrow go up involuntarily, showing her amused confusion.
"My name is Vincent Nightray, pleasure to meet you."
Alice smiled slightly, seeing where he was going with this and nodded, "Same to you."
"It's proper to give me your name, you know."
"It's proper to wait for you to give a satisfying amount of information before I give you any more."
Vincent laughed, "Clever, as always. Very well. What is it you would like to know?"
Alice shrugged, and turned her attention back to the flower, "Anything, really. Whatever will fill the gap."
"You're not the most helpful of ladies."
"I don't think someone who works on construction sites is really a lady."
"You really should stop telling me things. It only makes the gap bigger."
Really, he was a little surprised that she was so clean considering her job. He imagined construction workers to be ...different. Not so calm and collected. Not like her at all.
"Well, then, start talking. It's annoying waiting for you to talk."
Vincent smiled, "Well, let's continue then. I have a brother name Gilbert. We were both abandoned on the streets at a young age, I'm not really sure why. We got adopted by Nightray later on. I tend to be amused by the most oddest of things and people, and I work as a taxidermist."
Alice nodded, seemingly finding that to be of satisfactory. They sat in silence as Vincent took his regular spot beside her, scanning her once again. She was used to this. It had unnerved her the first couple times, but she ended up accepting it. He was death after all, and death longed for nothing more than life.
"Alice," she said finally. She watched him perk up, his attention caught, before returning her gaze to the flower in her hands,"My name. It's Alice."
Vincent grinned, and leaned in closer, "Well, Alice, can you tell me what happens when death meets life?"
"Death gets a kick in the face."
"And if death cuts life up in return?"
"Then I hope death knows life is going to end up mutilating his body within these next few seconds."
Vincent leaned in closer, "Really? I suppose you should know death is a bit of a masochist."
Alice seemed completely unfazed by what he was doing, "Then death should know life is a bit of a sadist."
Vincent smiled, "Would you like me to show you what happens when death meets life?"
Alice finally put the flower down, glaring at him, only to realize his face was a lot closer than she had originally thought it was. She felt her face heat up, not used to having someone's face so close to hers, and gently pushed him back.
"No, because I have a feeling what death wants to do will be considered rape in life's eyes."
"You can't rape the willing."
"Who said I was willing?"
"Who said you weren't?"
Alice was ready to slap the man and walk off, her mouth pulled into a scowl. Vincent seemed to be laughing at her through those mismatched eyes. Then she stopped, realizing that's exactly what he expected her, maybe even wanted, her to do. So, instead she just sat back and grinned, crossing her arms with a sudden arrogant air about her.
"It doesn't have to be said, I'm fairly certain you got the idea through my actions."
Vincent laughed and pulled back, mimicking her position, "You truly are quite an intriguing person."
"And you really are quite an annoying idiot."
"I suppose so. Though, that seems to happen often only around you."
"...Just what exactly do you want from me now? I told you my name, so be off. It's what you wanted, wasn't it?"
Vincent nodded slowly, "Originally, yes. However, now I find that you have something even more of a mystery than your name."
Oh for the love of...! "What do you want now?"
Vincent gave a condescending smile, "I think I told you when we first met you have a lovely secret. I think it would be fun to figure it out, wouldn't it?"
"What if I don't have a secret?"
"You said yourself everyone has secrets."
Alice blinked, suddenly understanding just how dangerous this man really was. Or rather, how well he could easily figure her out just by a small twist of her own words. Half of her went into a panic, not sure what to do. She couldn't run away. He'd know he found her weak spot, and she knew he would twist and bend her to the point where she spilled this little secret. The scissors were far too close to him for her to grab them without something happening that wouldn't end well for her. What could she possibly do?
Lie.
It was all she could do.
"My...secret..." she started, her voice a little shaky. She hoped he took it that it was her nervousness of telling him something untold and not her worry of if he would buy the lie or not that made her voice so rigged.
"It's not fun when you tell me. You need to show me."
Alice's eyes grew wide, her face flushing, "I need to what?"
"I like things to be fun. It's boring when you just tell me the answer."
Alice gulped. That was not what she had in mind at all. Her original plan had been to just say it, use embarrassment as an excuse, and run. There had been no contact involved. No extra push, no extra nothing. She knew that even with her original plan she would of have had to come back, but at least then she could have said she had rethought her feelings and decided they were nothing. There was no way out.
Hesitantly, she moved onto all fours and leaned over him, knowing there was a heavy blush over her face. It really wasn't her fault. She hadn't thought about any of this for as long as she could remember. Usually it would have been just her and her mother, or, when she was at her fathers, her and her sister. That had been all she ever needed.
Then her mother had died, and she had been focused on being able to support herself, ignoring her father's offers of taking her in (It was only a couple weeks until she would have been eighteen at the time), keeping her attention on schoolwork instead. Construction class had been her greatest point, and somehow she had managed to nick a job after helping out with a project. She had the grades to do much better, but somehow the job had just stuck with her.
Alice stopped a few centimetres away from his face and swallowed hard, "D-does this say anything?"
Vincent smiled slightly, wrapping an arm around her back much to her discomfort, "Not quite." He started to lean up, closing the distance between their mouths slowly. Alice froze completely, her mind not able work under the circumstances. What was she supposed to do? Kiss him? Shove him away? Grab the scissors and stab him? Run?
Her heart stopped as his lips brushed hers, her eyes flying open to find his closed. She finally regained control, pushing him away with an audible gulp, causing Vincent to, for once, raise an eyebrow at her. Alice had already retreated back to her side of the bench, the rose clutched tightly in her hand at her side, as though it was her lifeline.
"I-I-I...I can't. I just can't," she said shaking her head, her eyes shut tightly. She didn't know why. It was just a kiss, and not her first. She just couldn't. There was no real reason. It was just a can/can't situation.
Vincent smiled, almost understandingly, "The eye, right? You're not the first, don't worry."
"N-no! It's...it's not that. I just can't. I just...I need to go. I'm sorry. I didn't...I..."
Vincent gave another smile, "I see. Off you go, Alice. Wouldn't want to keep you from your regular scheduling. Farewell."
He waited for her to stutter her goodbye and walk hurriedly away. He then returned back to the bush, the scissors poised over the red rose yet again. He grinned, closing them slowly, until they were just about to cut through, and stopped.
"No," he murmured, "You still haven't told me your real secret, Alice. You're making this game far too difficult."
He snipped another black off, letting it fall carelessly to the ground, and gave a satisfied nod.
He sighed, pushing himself up. Far too difficult of a game for him. He placed a letter on the bench, and a rock on top of that to make sure it didn't end up flying away. He knew she would be the one to find it. No one else came here. No one else had any reason to do so.
Alice had indeed found it, at first puzzled by it's meaning. It made no sense to her. It had said something about "never seeing him again, but she would surely see him again". It was frustrating, trying to figure out the meaning. She waited another week, but still he had not come.
It was perhaps fate that ended it like this, but as Alice sat on her bench, a new rose in her hand, she had somehow deemed it a day to read the paper. She usually never did, of course, but today seemed to be urging her to buy one, so she did. It wasn't until the last page she recognized the mismatched eyes. It took her a few moments to realize that those tiny letters printed under his picture could only mean one thing.
Vincent Nightray was dead.
Alice panicked, thinking perhaps she had caused his death somehow, but the feeling quickly went away when she read his death had been from natural causes. Still though, how did that explain the letter? Had he known he was going to die? It seemed a little unlikely, but with Vincent, one never did know.
She could leave early. Visit his grave. He had apparently already been buried, so she decided to do just that. However, just as she was leaving something caught her eye. A lone red rose. She didn't know how she had not noticed it before. Frowning, she inspected it more thoroughly, finding it there was a perfect circle of nothing around it.
Walking closer to it, she realized the only those roses around it could have been cut were via scissors. She blinked, finding it odd, yet the feeling that it held some kind of revelation didn't leave her. Frowning, she read over the letter again, which she had kept with her at all times in case something like this ever happened.
She quickly scanned over it's contents and looked back up the the completely isolated red rose. Then, she laughed. Had he really planned this that well? It was something really quite impossibly exquisite.
"Sneaky, Vincent. Real sneaky."
'Life' as he had put it was standing right in the middle, surrounded by 'death.' No matter how hard death tried to reach life, death just could not figure out how. There was a gap, a gap that could not filled without the proper answer.
But, to her amusement, she learned that it was her answer of "there had to of been something there before in order to create that nothing" that gave the answer. Vincent had known she would give that answer because he had taken it upon himself to learn about her. To see how she ticked, to not just take in her appearance and decide that was who she was. He decided to challenge himself, find her outlook, her perspective, her tick. Learn that, memorize it, and create this giant game she had not even realized she was playing.
So, if there had been something there before, could they not, through some hard and desperate work, put that something back? Could one not uncover that long ago crushed path? Could someone not decide that, even if surrounded by nothing, they could reach out to someone, to something, and connect that broken path to something new? Nothing is ever done exactly the same twice, and nothing appears completely the same twice, so why not create something new? Why not take that extra step? Why not be like Vincent, and take the challenge, no matter how impossible?
"You once asked me what happens when death and life meet," she said quietly, somehow finding Vincent to be that red rose, perhaps because he had planned this game to end in such a way, "...the answer I should have given you was 'they clash and begin a wonderful dance, constantly changing positions and roles. That struggle to survive, that relief of seeing your joy come to life. That feeling of seeing your joy be crushed. That comfort of being alone. 'Life' is searching for 'death' just a desperately as death is searching for life, and together, only together, do they manage to create something extraordinary through their opposites'."
Alice smiled, placing the rose, that had been clutched in her hand the entire time, next to 'Vincent', "That's what happens when they meet."
Haha, confuse you? Good ;D
Well, originally I wasn't going to post this up, but then I thought (hoped, really) that this could inspire some people to make more Vince x Alice/Will of Abyss fics.
You should thank Joanie-who-loves-you for this.
It was made for her, and through her gracious efforts to cure my boredom, she gave me this prompt.