"maybe we can head to the apocalypse again as a little vacation. you know what they say... paradise!"
"i cannot express to you how little i would like to do that."
"stingy fucker."
IN WHICH vincent leblanc, resident french asshole and externally...
001 ( world serves its own needs, listen to your heart bleed )
chapter one !
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
IT HAD BEEN 22 YEARS. Twenty two fucking years since Vincent Leblanc had disappeared. Well, twenty two years for him. For everyone else in the past it had been 10 or less years. Vincent wished he could say the same for himself. He was 37 now, physically and somewhat mentally. Still stuck in the apocalyptic world of nothingness. He still hadn't met any living people, stuck to his lonesome in a small fort he had made for himself. He had made a habit of talking to himself, transforming into different people and putting on fake conversations. He may have kind of began to go utterly insane.
He had spent the years trying to go back, trying to bring himself home where he seemed to belong. His orange juice was long gone, drunk down to the very last drop. Oh lord, how he wished he could have more of that shit. He groaned to himself, the thought of the liquid enough to make him realize how horrible his life had become. He should have never used his power that day. He should have let the man kill him in cold blood, allow him to feel Vincent's body go dead and cold in his grip. But Vincent had always been stubborn. No matter how much he wished to die, death never seemed to come.
Vincent stood up, his limbs cracking in an effort to stretch out. He hated the way he looked now, old and gross. He wanted to be young again, a 15 year old boy with no worries to spare and a wide toothy grin. He didn't remember the last time he'd fully smiled. He had given up on trying to find anyone a while ago, once he made his way round to New York city, the big apple he knew he could fine the Umbrella Academy around. Perhaps they were alive, the lucky protected motherfuckers. Although, he had never made it there, stopping short and never trying again. He supposed he should.
Vincent sat back down, grabbing his all too empty box of cigarettes. Fuck... he wished he had more. He had smoked them all down over the span of 13 years, saving each one for a special occasion. That didn't last too long. They helped with the dread, more than anything. He huffed, lying back again with his arm lying over his eyes. He needed a cigarette. Or a bottle of whiskey. Anything to take his mind off of all of this.
Vincent jumped at the sound of footsteps, sitting up quickly. He furrowed his eyebrows when he saw a man that looked about his age, familiar and proper. He had a small beard growing in, something Vincent had sadly never been able to grow. "What the fuck?" He spoke up, maybe too loud. The man had jumped, ceasing the pulling of his cart and raising up a shotgun defensively.
Vincent didn't bother putting his hands up, stepping closer. "How the fuck- I thought I was in hell or something? By myself. Holy shit! Holy fuck!" He exclaimed, stepping closer. He huffed when the man pointed the gun right at his chest, the barrel touching right against him. Vincent hadn't even stiffened. If the man shot him, so be it. At least he'd be out of this.
