[Vincent, having waited for the lady of the house to greet him at the door, holds out a simple package, wrapped in brown paper, and tied with a bow of twine.]
A delivery for you, Miss Phanora.
[And were it simple as that, it would be a job well done. However, it isn’t.
The reality is a bit more complicated: delivering packages should be easy work for a man who’d picked through the dark, blood-soaked streets of Yharnam, but fate has never been kind—nor so straightforward—for a Hunter. In fact, though he is an efficient and expedient service generally, sometimes he still catches the attention of ruffians on a good day, or monsters on a bad one.
Today must have been a bad one.
The package is torn, the bow hanging lopsidedly. There is blood spread across the paper. Lacerating holes punctured straight through.
[ Phanora looks both unimpressed and unbothered, the only real sign that she's taken note of the state of the package when she takes it being the way she pauses for longer than ten seconds to look it over without actually turning it in her hands and examining it.
She's not even looking at Vincent when she speaks again. ]
[It's ludicrous to think that she wouldn't have noticed, that she would have said thank you for the good work, turned away, and retreated back inside. But, no, instead, Vincent makes a face that looks a little like a polite wince, and tilts his head towards the package.]
It was not so much as who, rather than a what. The road between towns is rife with dangers, and sometimes...
[Sometimes you have to fend them off while making sure someone's delicate(?) package is not torn to shreds the entire while.]
Well— no. But it would be a better comfort if you did.
[Was that a rhetorical question or not? Vincent clears his throat, fixes the cuff of his sleeves a little awkwardly, but then nods.]
Very well. Yours was the most pressing delivery, and I have no others for the day. [His curiosity gets the best of him, as always, and he has to ask:] Was it a dress for the occasion?
[If anything is partly ruined in there, it’s somewhat his fault! …That, and he’s nosy.
He’ll follow her in if she steps back inside, otherwise he’ll just watch her unwrap it here, a little awkwardly, at her doorstep. Vincent clasps his hands behind his back, glad to see the dress is fine. The gloves… not so much.]
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finalflight2022-10-25 09:40 pm
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A delivery for you, Miss Phanora.
[And were it simple as that, it would be a job well done. However, it isn’t.
The reality is a bit more complicated: delivering packages should be easy work for a man who’d picked through the dark, blood-soaked streets of Yharnam, but fate has never been kind—nor so straightforward—for a Hunter. In fact, though he is an efficient and expedient service generally, sometimes he still catches the attention of ruffians on a good day, or monsters on a bad one.
Today must have been a bad one.
The package is torn, the bow hanging lopsidedly. There is blood spread across the paper. Lacerating holes punctured straight through.
He tried.]
…For the upcoming winter fete, I imagine?
no subject
[ Phanora looks both unimpressed and unbothered, the only real sign that she's taken note of the state of the package when she takes it being the way she pauses for longer than ten seconds to look it over without actually turning it in her hands and examining it.
She's not even looking at Vincent when she speaks again. ]
Whose blood is this?
no subject
It was not so much as who, rather than a what. The road between towns is rife with dangers, and sometimes...
[Sometimes you have to fend them off while making sure someone's delicate(?) package is not torn to shreds the entire while.]
Well, you'll have to forgive the... mishandling.
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Come in. I'd like you to remain while I inspect the contacts to ensure they're intact.
[ And it's still dangerous outside, so it's not like-- well, either way. He can wait for a bit before fleeing. ]
no subject
[Was that a rhetorical question or not? Vincent clears his throat, fixes the cuff of his sleeves a little awkwardly, but then nods.]
Very well. Yours was the most pressing delivery, and I have no others for the day. [His curiosity gets the best of him, as always, and he has to ask:] Was it a dress for the occasion?
no subject
[ Though why is that his business, gosh. She's just going to unwrap it.
And it looks as though the dress, some dark burgundy thing, looks unharmed, though the gloves on top of it look a wee bit battered. Hm. ]
no subject
He’ll follow her in if she steps back inside, otherwise he’ll just watch her unwrap it here, a little awkwardly, at her doorstep. Vincent clasps his hands behind his back, glad to see the dress is fine. The gloves… not so much.]
You might pull it off as the newest fashion?
[Torn gloves are ever the rage, right.]
no subject
I think not.