V i n c e n t

Do not tempt the birds, wise man.
They peck your eyes,
They do you no good.

Do not go near the trees - the trees hold death. Inside the trees only screams and fear reside. Do not enter the forest, do not push past the towering birches.
Can a place of angry memoirs, of grieving revelations, be seen as an oasis? An abyss, perfect in every way? All in a matter of perspective, my dear, isn't it? Those swaying trees in the distance shall do nothing for me, and I shall not venture close to them. When curiosity begins to call in protest, I will cast a blind eye toward it. I have no idea what this land will hold, and I am dubious to what I seek inside it, even. Well, every endeavour has flaws, I suppose. And who shall I meet on this fine, fine day? Likely a pompous little twit intent on annoying me until I reach my breaking point - or some harlot desperate for a lover, attempting to whoo me with charm or appearances or even disinterest. Yes, I can see through the vain little shams of 'Oh, I don't care, I'm too good for you', blah blah blah. All they want is a male to give them a home, no matter what they say. And for that reason, and perhaps a few others, I do not care for the feminine race. Then again, I don't really care for my fellow masculines either, but there's a certain difference. Just as there is a different between idiots and scholars - malevolence and civility. I happen to be the complete opposite of the latter, but again it depends on your perspective of me, now doesn't it? Frankly, strained amiability seems foolish to me, the appearance of such to be weak and filled to the brim with desperation. It is not something I have, wish to have, or seek. And the same goes for everyone I will find myself yearning the company of. Does such a thing exist in more than one being? I suppose that is up to deliberation, but familiarity on my behalf suggests...most likely not. But I have seen such for myself, and I will wait for it again. If my little lead lady doesn't have this aspect...well, pray someone challenges her title, eh? I have no competence for imbeciles, I have no patience for beings who sugar-coat every sentence. Point blank.

And here I am simply strolling, imprinting misshapen crescents on the topography, my apex curved slightly, zenith held acutely aloft. Why, someone might mistake me for being conceited. Tut, tut, wouldn't want that, now would we? My steps are lethargic, appendages stretching to their full length before lowering to the turf once again, quite obviously this is just for show. A form of entertainment for my bored persona. A wry smirk pulls itself onto my facade, a faint hum exiting my throttled larynx, a gesture of comfort, confidence, in anywhere I was to go. Why, contrary to some common belief, utmost confidence is a positive trait, isn't it? I have no idea why anyone would think any different. Caudal flicks mindlessly at my flanks, scattering pests or sending them to their graves, minuscule rivulets of their blood traveling down my duo-toned flanks. My imperceptible brow furrows slightly, traveling over the horizon, where the newly-risen sun is beaming brightly. The titian crescent is magnificent, it must be admitted. With such a fiery intensity it is almost as if you can see each individual flame sparking, igniting on its surface. But I return my fuliginous bifocals and my mind to the steps I continue to take, and soon I find myself a a tumbling river, and I simply stare into the depths of the churning water, the noise tumultuous. The tips are white, foam cloaking its entity, and further into its pit it gradually darkens to a deep azure. Here, again, am I with power, I am an influence again, and finally. I hadn't realized how much I had yearned for it not too long ago, but even I was amazed at how easily I had attained it. Well, I suppose everyone just feels...hm...better, with me in such a position. Well, can you blame them? I am quite a charming individual. At this thought I chortle, and, still peering into the depths of the flowing river, I silently await entertainment, some persona to insult. Fun, fun.

status; complete
words; seven hundred twenty four
notes; open to anyone. sorry for shortness.

V i n c e n t

We are fools to tempt fate
That which hath cut out
A path for us in life.

Fairytales; something of myth - a story imagined by a being and written down to frighten, entertain, or teach children a lesson. We thrive on those fairytales, for the ending is always happy - the bad guy dies, the good guys win and live happily ever after. Well, here's the thing...fairytales are not real. Some wish they were, wish that their life was more like a fairytale so that their life could be happier, perfected. Anyone who dares to toss away real life for a pathetic dreamlife are nothing but fools. You cannot change the past, only look to the future, and hope that you do something right eventually. But misfortune often runs rampant, and truthfully there is nothing you can do about that. Just put it down to dreams and nightmares. Nightmares - now they are something to dwell on. While they might not necessarily be more realistic than fairytales, they do give us a glimpse into the cruel intentions of the world. In nightmares, we realize that everything will not always be fine. It's a cruel lesson to learn, but a vital one. Realize this, poor folk; life is more often unfair and miserable than euphoric and fortunate. That is just the sad, sad truth, and one not to be trifled with, mind you. If you try to cheat the fact, I guarantee you will end up ever more worse off. Perhaps I'm a morbid personality...or perhaps I'm just smarter than you. I happen to think the latter is more likely. Now the silence is traded for the crunches and gravvelly hisses of vegetation, dirt, and rock being scuffed and crushed by hooves. It is quite a distinct noise, actually, and my aeronauticals swivel to perch themselves erect along the apex of my zenith. My nares dilate slightly, ushering in the aroma of what I now take to be a feminine figure. But I do not move yet - I do not pivot to allow her to see my facade - I simply continue to allow my eyes to scour the water hungrily, as though some fabled treasure lies at the bottom of the river, glinting, just waiting for someone to grab it. Well, what was she waiting for? Would she not say her name, my name, as an introductory phrase? No? What a pity. Must I do everything?

And now I do turn, a brow raising as I speculate the harlot in all her esteemed glory. Why, she seems quite arrogant. Why on earth would she be? As far as I can see she is certainly nothing special. I've seen too many chestnut arabians to count, and even more with such an attitude as she seemed to have. And I was certain she was a conceited little thingy, before she had even spoke a word. My, aren't I a judge of character? With my labrum tugging upwards, my orifice curled into a vicious grin, as though my enamels had been bared. "Why," I purred, allowing my lethargic appendages to pull my embodiment nearer the harlot, "on earth would you be here, intruding on my silence? You should lighten your steps, darling, you sound like a clod." My, wasn't I in a sour mood? My grin widened, and my skull dipped slightly, in acknowledgement, and soon I was continuing on, my syllables dangerously silky, but that was where my venom lay. "But no harm done, I suppose. Pray tell your name, my dear." Caudal flicked faintly at my flanks, the flesh now dotted with countless rivulets of blood coming from the pests now smashed on my flesh. I was rather bored, and so for that reason I was slightly glad for company, no matter how decent or indecent it might be. Again I peered at the pera, a skeptical expression overcoming my countenance. "I'm rather certain you know of my alias, do you not? Well, in any case I am Vincent, and if you are in the Sunset herd - which I gather you are, considering you are in Sunset territory - then I am your leader, along with dear...Oh, what was her name? Spoiler? Oh, no, it was Spyder, wasn't it? My fault, my fault. Well, get on, what are you here for?" Really, I could care less. But it is for the sake of conversation. No, wait, that would be a lie. I just asked it to take up time, I suppose. I really would rather not talk to her.