Author: Jesus...>_> Kniftee, who do you think?
Pairing: Fink/Van Gough (a first from me! O:)
Rating: Let's say R for dark themes and confusing character death o.o
Disclaimer: I don't own these people, in reality they don't even exist >_>...
Notes: It really wasn't meant to be this big (even though it's tiny), but it just kept coming. But I am very proud of it =3
Blood. n; red liquid that pumps through the heart, veins, and arteries to sustain life in animals
Fink wondered why people had so much of it, he'd never really thought about it until now, but cover yourself in it sometime and you'll know why he was so entranced. It shone brighter than his own clothes, it's like a beacon, he thought, showing everyone what I've done...
Fixation. n; an obsessive attachment to something
To Fink, Van was an escape. A crutch, a shoulder, a scapegoat. His own personal Red Cross. He'd go nowhere without him, and follow him through the worst. He was the only "pet" Fink would ever have that he'd never sell off, no matter how hard anyone could work a bargain. And that scared him.
Van Gough was his inspiration, but held in his worst ideas. He kept him censored, some would even describe it as rational. He kept him free, some would even say reckless. He was the ghost and keeper of, "never do that again," and, "another round?" There was controlled abandonment and haphazard balance. It was like a train wreck of the most original, cliched love there ever was. And that drove him mad.
Love. n; warm affection towards something
Fink wonders briefly, shaking his scarlet-clad body free of the poison, free of the memories, if that was what drove him to this.
Reconciliation. vb; the act of bringing to acceptance
He walked "home". His "lover" and he had brought "his" car, but he walked. He didn't much care for Ford's anyway. It started raining half-way on his journey back to the warehouse; because this was very much a journey, he'd walked it many times before but he always felt a shiver of doom go through him when he spotted it from far away. He didn't much care for the sun either, so in the end, this escapade worked out.
There was a hill you had to walk over, just before you got to the warehouse. It was this hill that had Fink shake upon contact. From horn to tail, he quivered again, involuntarily this time. And for a moment, just a split second, he thought that maybe he understood.
Raconteur. n; storyteller
There was something dark and brooding about the warehouse that day, and Fink felt as if he really were a beacon, at least, he knew he could hide nothing from any of its inhabitants. They stared, but said nothing. Some with deep, disappointed glances, some with sorrowful, knowing ones. Each did not stay long enough for empty explanations or hollowed glares. He knew they knew, and that scared him.
I am also going to start taking requests, to keep me in writing shape.