In the end, and after much struggle, Vincent managed to get all of his plunder back to camp. When he stumbled into the clearing, Jacob was fast asleep on the bier he had made for him, curled tightly inside his cloak. The angry red, rope-like scar around the boys' throat had faded to a more subdued red, and looked more like a regular rope burn than the deep gash it had been only a few hours before. He decided to be generous, in light of what the boy had been through in recent hours, and let him sleep. For once, or maybe twice, Vincent was grateful for his enhanced strength; it certainly made doing menial chores a little easier sometimes. For instance, most people would need to painstakingly score and cut open the coconuts. All Vincent had to do was run a serrated digit around where he wanted the coconut to split, and twist his hands, like wringing a towel, and the coconut would pop open. After the first one, he cursed himself for not remembering that the hard-shelled fruit had liquid inside. He made double sure after that to drill a hole and drain the milk into one of his collapsable pots, after making sure the milk was fit to drink. Thankfully for small mercies, his sensitive nose made it possible for him to discern that without having to taste it. When all the coconuts were drained of their milk and in halves, he set to carving the meat into strips to dry. Luckily, there were a good number of large, flat stones at the lakes' edge. They would be perfect for drying the fruit. Vincent glanced up at the sun, judging it to be about noon. That would explain why his stomach was making its' presence known. He wondered at that. Before acquiring the boy, he hadn't been bothering to eat except every few days. It wasn't a new habit, but one he'd developed back when he'd been leader of the infamous Turks, when his duties had piled to the ceiling and beyond, and he hadn't had time to eat. His comrades in AVALANCHE had often wondered and yes, even worried, about him, and a certain loudmouthed ninja had outright demanded he eat something every day, even if it was something as small as an apple. It had amused him to watch her trying to cow a man almost twice her size into eating. He realized with a sharp pang of grief that he greatly missed his spunky little ninja. Perhaps he should have returned her feelings for him? He shook himself violently, sending the mound of empty coconut husks cascading to the ground with a clatter. Hadn't those thirty years in the coffin taught him that dredging up old memories only made the pain worse? Maybe Hojo had been right; he was a glutton for punishment. A soft barely-there sound niggled at the edge of his hearing, it sounded like-
He reacted instantly, throwing his body sideways into the sand as the behemoth charged out of the forests' edge. He brought his right hand up- Empty. Cerberus was sitting on his pack next to the sleeping boy. Vincent cursed himself for his laxness as he got to his feet, making small, smooth motions to keep from attracting and enraging the behemoth. Luck was not with him. The high noon sun glinted of his gauntlet, reflecting directly into the tiny pig eyes of the behemoth. Blinded and enraged, it charged in the last direction it had seen Vincent. The lithe ex-Turk dodged it, skirting around it to make for his target. The behemoth lumbered to a stop a few hundred feet from where it started, turning round in circles trying to find its' escaped victim. It found Vincent just as he grabbed the gun. He cursed for the third time in a similar amount of time, as the beast got ready to charge. Bringing his arm up, he leveled the muzzle of the gun at the beasts forehead, right between its beady little eyes. He squeezed the trigger, the deafening report of the triple-barreled gun sounding like music to his ears. He saw with dismay that the three bullets fired simultaneously did nothing, merely bouncing off the behemoths armored hide. The bullets did little to deter it from charging either; if anything, it just made it angrier.
"JACOB!" Vincents' bellow could have rivaled the roar of the behemoth. The boy in question stirred, opening bleary green eyes. He blinked owlishly at the behemoth, understanding making his eyes go wide. Ever so lowly, he nodded once, letting Vincent know that he didn't have to worry about him. Vincent nodded his acknowledgement, dashing towards the behemoth at top speed. The beast turned ponderously to follow him and lumbered after his fleeing form. While Vincent was busy distracting the beast, Jacob crept slowy to the mans' pack and carefully removed the rifle from its resting place. He noticed runes carved into the butt as he removed the sock covering the muzzle. He watched with fascination as his hands checked that there was no obstruction in the barrel, slid a bullet into the chamber, racked it, brought the butt to his shoulder. He gazed down the barrel, some deep, long dormant instinct dictating how his body moved. He lined the sights up with where he knew the beasts' heart was and squeezed the trigger. The recoil dazed him and sent him sprawling on his back in the sand. Vincent heard the famiiar report of a gun that only he should be able to fire. Expecting the worst, he jumped straight up, squeezing every last ounce of strength from his muscles to drive his body into the sky, arcing over the behemoth with a good fifteen feet to spare. The beast stumbled, a small hole appearing in its left side as a massive hole blasted its way out of its right side. It went down in a tangle of limbs and lay still in a growing pool of blood. Vincent coiled himself into a ball, altering his center of gravity to come down in front of the still prone boy. Jacob looked between the body of the beast and Vincent, marveling at the distance between the two; had to be at least twenty-five feet. The ex-Turk offered the boy his hand which Jacob took gratefully, handing the high-powered rifle to him once he was on his feet. Vincent looked sharply at him, weighing his next words carefully.
"Tell me, how were you able to use a gun that was tailor-made for me?" His question was sharp, but somehow held a note of gentleness. The boy shrugged.
'''I was not thinking. I just acted. Something was telling me how to do it. This was the first time I have ever shot a gun. It felt so familiar though...''' he trailed off, letting his hands fall back to his sides. Vincent wordlessly held the rifle out for him to take. He did so, the weight of the rifle nearly making him drop it, if Vincent hadn't grabbed it before he could. The discrepancy itched at his finely-honed Turk instincts. Jacob gave him a sheepish smile and shrugged again. He let it slide this time though, filing it away with the many other discrepancies the boy posed. He re-muzzled the rifle, setting it gently back in its place by his pack. He removed a large, long-bladed knife from the pack, turning with it in his right hand. He beckoned with it, the hot afternoon sun glinting darkly on its well oiled surface. The boy skittered over to him and Vincent cursed himself again for forgetting the boy's upbringing.
"I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. I'm only going to cut your hair. It won't hurt. I was meaning to do this earlier, but now is as good a time as any." Jacob warily knelt in front of him, keeping as still as possible. Vincent cut through each lock as gently as he could, trying not to inadvertently cut too close to the boys' scalp. When he was done, he ran his hand across the boys' shorn head, brushing a few loose locks to the ground.
"That will do for now. If you can't keep it clean and free of tangles, then I will continue to cut it short." The boy nodded emphatically, glad to have the massive weight of his unkempt hair gone.