skippedabeat | Round 3: Test Drive

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test drive

Round 3: Test Drive

Welcome to the third test drive!

Please don't worry too much about using your Personas correctly or following the prompts exactly. They're meant to give you starting ideas, but by all means, go wild and add more options!

The objective here is to try out characters and see who you could have the most fun with in the game's setting. However, feel free to follow this link to request a Persona be generated for you as if you were part of the game. (Please try to limit this to only one of your test drive characters if you can as to not overwhelm us!)

If you have questions about the test drive itself, you can ask them here! If you want to play an AU don't forget this entire post can be used for you to get AU scenarios set up and see who your character might have been related too or know before Awakening.

Now then, let's begin...

Prompt 1 - The National Leviathan Habitat

Eddan's shimmering sapphire of an aquarium, the National Leviathan Habitat, is holding a series of special events at its location in Royal Mount. Students and family groups get half off, with certain events being completely free. This include a full night's stay at the aquarium sometime during the week for any person who checks in with their card. While spots are limited, it's such a large aquarium, and nights can be booked in advance, so it shouldn't be too much of a problem. So come, everyone! Enjoy whale spotting, aquarium strolling, educational shows, and a night surrounded by water. However, unknown to you, something else might be starting to beat in the deepest, darkest depths of your heart.

Similar to the flower festival that was used in the prior TDM, Unawakened characters can get a flash of memory sometime during this prompt and Awakened characters will be able to occasionally pick them out. For more information on the National Leviathan Habitat, which is a player introduced location, please check here.

Additionally, if both test drive player and game players agree, the aquarium test drive threads can also become game canon! As long as the test drive character is played as being completely unaware of what has happened in the game up to this point. Keep in mind that they would NOT have had a message on their phones. Two Test drive players can also make these game canon if they get accepted (and they keep the same requirements as above).

Prompt 2 - From Dawn to Dusk

The city has been abuzz for the past few weeks. A new string of murders is making front page news and serving as a grim reminder why the nightly curfew is so important. As families, perhaps even someone close to you, mourn, pressure continues to rise at the many police stations and at city hall. The people are afraid and they’re demanding answers.

There's not much time for you to dwell on this.. Like everyone else in the city, you have a lot to do, and a tight schedule to do it in, even on summer vacation. (Or maybe because of summer vacation for the local schools.) You don't even notice the application that has appeared on your phone's screen. The headache that follows, however, is strange and disorienting, and it brings with it an odd sensation that something is wrong today. You’re just not sure why.

The day passes by and soon, it's close to midnight. Your body, if you're not in bed by now, is completely exhausted. Despite your best efforts, you'll find yourself closing your eyes. Too bad it's quickly interrupted by a strange noise, and movement like something pulsating softly.

It's your phone, or at least you think it's your phone, but it's never glowed this orange before. There’s mist rising above it almost like fire...something's definitely bizarre about this. Despite your fears, you forces yourself to open it, and click on that strange snake-like icon.

It opens revealing a single statement and blank box;

To begin, please write your name.

Your fingers move on their own. Before you have time to really think about it, and as the pain inside your head becomes so terrible you start breathing rapidly and sweating, you've entered a series of letters and pressed enter. Now you're in a large chatroom with many others...but your 'name' you've never even heard of it...have you? It almost feels like you have...

Prompt 3 - Awakening

The last rays of the sun disappeared over the horizon almost an hour ago, yet here you are, walking through the apple orchards located behind one of the campus wings. The strange app that's been sending you strange clues the past seven days now says you're ready to face the truth. It told you to come here tonight, but never to travel alone. Repeatedly, it warns you to make sure to have someone close by if you're to survive…but besides some friends, what else did you bring with you? Did you pack for this, or did you figure you'd make it up as you go? Are you in a position to be able to bring weapons with you that no one would suspect?

Something is out there, and it's getting closer.

Before you can think, you see it: a large, blackish mass, almost like slime, slithering along the ground resembling a vaguely humanoid shape with glowing yellow eyes. When it roars again, it reveals rows and rows of teeth. This was a mistake your brain warns. The strange name from the chatroom, the days leading up to this...you're fairly certain even if you are prepared that you're going to die.

And yet, something inside you stirs. Even as they move closer, you find yourself charging instead of running, as your heartbeat increases. A voice inside is guiding you, each movement bringing forth a surge of memories of a past that you had lost. You’re angry and confused, but your pain, your fears, your rage for all of this… all of that needs to be taken out on those creatures.

All you need to do now is to tear out your heart.

Prompt 4 - A new, old life

Now that you have your memories back, the strange veil of this world has been somewhat lifted. Things that seemed simple now seem strange. You have so many questions, but not enough answers. Then there's the new weapons you wield and the strange creature inside of you...your Heart Persona.

During the day, you are encouraged to continue to live as you did before, but with old and new memories together, sometimes it is difficult to keep acting like you did. Will it cause issues in your job or school life? Will it change your reactions to whatever life you had here? Do you notice others like you who have awakened?

Maybe it would be a good time to send a chatroom message, just to ask others what they are planning to do. Maybe you should set up a meeting to fight shadows at night. Maybe you’ll organize a plan of attack or set up a club to escape the strange looks others have been giving you. Maybe you just want someone's opinion on the best place to have pizza. Hey, no one said you had to use the AppleNET just for serious things, after all.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Those words weren't unlike anything Vincent had said before, but he seemed so far removed from himself that another thought occurred to Kit.

Perhaps their souls weren't the sought after prize so much as their bodies? By prying the essence out of the host, a perfect container would be left behind. A vessel for...the people in those visions, maybe. Or some other sort of demonic force or spiritual being.

Recklessly taunting the power behind these attacks only opened them up to further assault. Perhaps even prepared them for possession.

It was a chilling thing to consider, but it was also that thought that returned some of Kit's own nerve to him. Despite his exhaustion, he remained steadfast. Despite the agonizing state of his body, he remained strong. It was one thing to fight a man head on, nobly and with everything you had, but another to cowardly suck out the very marrow of his being and transform him into something he was not before he even had a fighting chance. Such a thing was unforgivable.]

No one is going to die today.

[When he was certain Vincent could sit on his own again, Kit swiftly pulled away and began to tidy up their mess. The pen and ofuda were tucked neatly into the notebook and thrust against Vincent's chest to give him something else to think about, and the ashes on the floor were swept into a pile and then scooped into his hands. Against the open blisters of his palm it stung, but Kit rose to his feet and carried the little pile to the trash to dispose of it anyway. Any remaining traces left on the floor when he returned were smeared away with the sole of his shoe. It was almost like they'd never been here. Apart from the faint smell of charred paper in the air.

Now that he thought about it, they'd been fortunate in that the smoke hadn't set off any alarms...]

I'm going to find the bathroom. I'll be back.

[it's the sudden reappearance of his notebook rather than Kit's words that shake him out of the last dregs of his reverie. he clasps it instinctively, like a treasure or a weapon, and immediately begins attempting to get to his feet as his companion makes quick work of their failed experiment.

it's a poor idea and dizziness strikes him almost as soon as he begins moving, but he remains undaunted. now that he's back to clarity what galls him most is the overt show of vulnerability he'd just put on for his unwilling audience. he needs to pull himself together - and he absolutely needs to be standing for whatever comes next.

he's on his feet by the time Kit returns, albeit with a faintly unsteady air. everything hurts, his head in particular, but he does his best to appear disaffected.]

Fine.

[he'd still be here, the unspoken acknowledgement. no matter how body he became, there was absolutely no way Vincent was backing down from this fight.]

[Although he didn't require Vincent's permission, Kit waited for his acknowledgment before he left. In a way, that solitary word was the only confirmation that he could hope for of his companion's well-being, especially if he wished to spare the other boy's pride.

Choosing to avoid the stairwell, Kit started toward the other set of doors in the lobby and the hallway beyond. The bathroom wasn't difficult to find or very far away, but neither was he in any kind of rush to quickly utilize the facilities and return.

Instead, as soon as the door was closed behind him and he was certain he was alone, Kit proceeded toward the counter and removed his jacket and shirt along the way. In the mirror he was able to see clearly the bruises and welts that had risen up across his skin from his earlier altercation with Vincent. Patches of blue and purple spotted his shoulder blades and his ribs, but with some relief, he noted the lump on the back of his head had gone down in size. Still, there was the matter of his cheek, which he could see now had bled more than he'd realized, and his hand which seemed to hurt with an invigorated pain the moment he turned on the warm water and held it near.

It would be several more minutes before he joined Vincent back in the lobby, but by then he seemed refreshed, all traces of dust removed from his clothes and skin, and even his hair tidied and tied back into a more manageable ponytail. His hand, too, had been bound by what appeared to be a hastily washed and dried scrap of cloth. Possibly something from Kit's own shirt, judging by its color, though from where it was difficult to say. With his jacket in place over top, nothing appeared to have been cut.

But, sure enough, something had been. Or he wouldn't have had the spare scrap in hand to offer Vincent when he returned.

So much for sparing his pride...]

For your hand.

[It had been impossible not to notice the dried blood on his jacket where Vincent had grabbed him. He wasn't sure when, but at some point he must have injured his hand and, like the blood on his face, simply never taken care of it.]

[all the better that Kit takes his time; it gives Vincent more time of his own to recover in his own way. as soon as the other boy is out the door he's scrubbing tiredly at his face, ignoring the flakes of dried blood that catch beneath his nails as he does so. although his body screams for it, he refrains from returning to the bench even without watchful eyes. he still had something to prove here.

he does make the compromise of settling painfully against the nearby wall, a foot propped against it to further brace himself. it offered him a good view of both doorways, as well as a quiet perch with which to try and settle his mind. he was always quick to rile, but even he could acknowledge that right now a cool head was more important.

his fingers wander, digging through his jacket pockets once more for something to swap out his notebook for. they find it easily enough, and the trade is enacted - half a pack of cigarettes for the safety of his music. it's forbidden to smoke indoors, but Vincent honestly can't bring himself to care. he desperately needs the nicotine boost right now, and the aquarium smoke alarms have already proven themselves to be a bit lax. it was fine.

when Kit returns he'll find that his companion seems to also be rejuvenated despite having done nothing to improve his appearance. the cigarette dangles idly from his lips as he looks up at the sound of the other teen's return, casting a skeptical gaze across his new hairstyle. if the situation were a bit less chaotic there would undoubtedly have been a snide comment about that. as it is, he keeps it to himself.]

There's nothing wrong with my hand.

[his defensive tone is briefly colored with genuine bafflement as it takes Vincent several moments to recall what he might be talking about. ah, that was right. he'd broken the skin pretty deeply clenching his fist on the stairwell.

so he'd noticed even that, had he? it seemed that critical mind of his wasn't entirely posture.]

If you say so.

[The point was hardly one worth arguing. Instead, Kit folded up the small piece of cloth, cut free from one of his shirt sleeves, like the one wrapped around his own hand, and tossed it toward Vincent. He could use it if he wished, or throw it into the trash if that suited his preference instead. What mattered was that the courtesy had been extended. It was the least he could do since, he was sure, the wound on Vincent's hand had been incurred only after he had pointed out the other boy's piercing hanging off the back of his clothing.

Let it not be said he didn't repay his debts. Never mind that they'd been fighting at the time.

Settling next to Vincent against the wall, Kit gestured towards the cigarette in the other boy's hand. Not in a judgmental way, however. There was no disgust, no curling of his lip or turning up of his nose. But rather...the gently waving hand, as if asking for a stick of his own.

If his theory about possession was right, then perhaps what Vincent had said earlier also held true. Probably even more effective like that, considering what's in them. It was worth a shot. And, if nothing else, perhaps it would serve to at least take the edge off. He felt refreshed and looked better now, but there was still a knot in his shoulders that wouldn't go away.]

[he catches it reflexively, stowing it away in his jacket pocket. there's really no point in hanging onto it if he doesn't intend to use it as a bandage, but his hands have already moved on instinct before he can contemplate the error of their ways. a memento of their meeting, he supposed.

he watches Kit's gaze idly as he comes to rest next to him and inspects his cigarette. the lack of judgement isn't surprising, given his past, although he can't help letting out a small smoky puff of laughter when he realizes the only thing that gesture can mean.

he may be more put together, but it seems that Kit's nerves have been just as frayed.

rather than pull out another stick, Vincent removes the already lit one from his mouth and passes it over. it's quicker for the other teen this way, and given how little time has passed between his lighting up and the arrival of his companion it's barely any less burn time. as soon as the cigarette's taken from his hand he's moving to light up a new one for himself, remarking as he goes -]

Only the first one's on the house.

[Accepting the lit cigarette from the other boy, Kit stole a long and grateful drag from the filtered end. His anxiety didn't begin to ebb right away, but the promise of that bittersweet relief was enough. He inhaled deeply, held the ashen flavor of the cigarette in the back of his throat where at first it tingled and then it burned, and then he released his breath and sighed. A thick cloud of smoke spilled neatly into the air before him, a silver tsunami that danced violently before his eyes until he fanned it away with his free hand.

With the gesture, Kit's head swam momentarily, but it was a strangely pleasant sensation following all the ways he had been assaulted that night. To feel, even briefly, numb and far away from all that pain...it was something he could only be thankful for.

He could think of only one way to show his gratitude right that moment and, pulling the cigarette from in between his lips...

...Kit held it out between them so that the other boy could light his own.]

That won't be a problem.

[He would never make a habit of smoking, preferring to maintain peak mental and physical health. But for now...well, it was an acceptable distraction. Clearly one they both needed, which led him to believe that, if only for a little while, they might also be better off taking a break from occult discussions. It would be a shame to disturb the blanket of placidity that had fallen into place.]

So, how is it you came to attend the overnight stay here at the Habitat?

[Vincent makes a soft noise that might be construed as thankfulness on another planet, using the proffered cigarette to light up the new one. he takes a deep drag before answering, the embers from the other end glowing ethereally in the dim light of the lobby.

it's a terrible habit, to be sure. but it was hardly his worst vice.

he's hardly a person to whom peace with others comes easily, but the hardships of the night have been brutal enough to prompt even him into laying them aside for the moment. whatever was stalking them didn't seem to have any intentions of relenting. they had plenty of time.]

I won a voucher at a coffee shop. [he shrugs lopsidedly, mostly to preserve his careful arrangement of bruises] It's stupid to waste free things.

[The faint glow provided by the vending machines and dim perimeter lighting was welcome. Where they stood, with neither one looking directly at the other, backs to the wall, and the only two entrances and exits to the lobby in perfect view before them, they didn't have to worry if their composure was lacking. And even if they did happen to look at one another, the shadows were likely to hide their faces well.

Kit could scarcely muster the hardened and guarded look of earlier. Something about being around Vincent felt comfortable, even natural, and with that feeling came a more honest countenance. A heavy stare that rested upon the bench where they'd sat, then traveled back in the direction of the stairwell as if retracing their footsteps. So much of the day had seemed to whip on by, happening so quickly he didn't have much time to process anything. But here he was now, everything all caught up...and he didn't really know where to go next.

Taking another long drag from his cigarette, he thought about how he'd come to be here himself.

Two people, a man and a woman, had thought the excursion would be a good experience for him. An educational event such as this would likely be teeming with friendly faces from school. He would learn a lot, and more importantly, he would enjoy himself. What would they think if they knew the truth? He would never tell them, of course. They might not be his real family, but they were decent people and they tried hard. He didn't want them to worry. Not about him.]

I see. [There was a small sound, something like amusement, but the emotion didn't quite reach his face.] That's why you accepted my invitation?

[With a flick, blazing embers drifted from the end if his cigarette to the cement tiled floor.]

...or was it because I freely offered up my name?

[the foot not braced against the wall moves instantly to quash the flames as soon as they hit the ground; there's nothing in the near vicinity that could feasibly catch fire, but old habits died hard. he's not even really consciously aware of the action himself.]

A little of both. [he cants his head leisurely so that he can catch Kit's gaze.] It's not every day you get the opportunity to meet someone who's scooped out an eyeball with a piece of celery.

[Vincent's beginnings may have been soft, but he wasn't naive enough to believe even two-thirds of the stories Styx would regale him with of prison. the other teen's crimes had only been middling, he knows, and so he was desperate to make the experience - and the people he'd encountered there - harder than they really were.

unfortunately he really didn't have much of a sense of realism when it came to his embellishments. they were outrageously hilarious to listen to, especially when Styx was drunk, but completely lacking in anything believable. from the sardonic tilt of his eyebrow, it's clear that he doesn't believe the rumor he's relating.]

[Oh, for goodness sake...]

Is that what they're saying nowadays?

[Kit shook his head, gaze trained on the smear of ash left in the wake of Vincent's heavy foot.]

It wouldn't matter how talented the individual, even fresh celery is much too flimsy to perform a job like that. Lotus root, on the other hand...

[This was exactly why he had a reputation. He never denied the stories, he just made them worse by spouting simple facts in a manner most could, and often did mistake as being threatening.

Of course...some of what had been said about him in the past was justified. But those weren't tales Kit was eager to recount for anyone, and if Vincent ever accidentally touched upon one, well...he'd know.]

Sure, but you couldn't eat the evidence right away.

[lotus root wasn't toxic raw, but consuming it without cooking it beforehand seriously heightened the potential of spreading bacterial infections or worse. that was probably pretty tough posturing in a prison, sure, but it didn't do very much for one's likelihood of living to see their parole day.

he chuckles, expelling another soft cloud of smoke. celery was already pushing his 'informant's' cultural boundaries as it was; having to relate the same story with the substitution of lotus root would probably be enough to trigger an aneurysm.]

And it's not like you even need any tools to take out on eye.

[speaking of replies that could be construed as threatening...]

It wouldn't be very practical to consume evidence that can be traced the moment that it passes. Besides, I could dispose of it just as easily down someone else's throat.

[Oddly enough, Kit didn't seem to mind the shift in topic. For one who didn't want to give his foster parents cause to worry, he was awfully quick to continue discussing worrying things. His choice in conversational partners wasn't much better, either. If they could see him now, pulling on a cigarette next to a boy whose face may as well have been streaked with war paint, their fate might not be all that different from Styx's.

But it felt natural to him. Like slipping out of an uncomfortable suit and into his own skin.]

In any case, you're right. Depending upon how much pain you want to inflict, it's more efficient and precise to use your own hands.

[Only those who were clinical in their methods or squeamish would avoid doing so, not that Kit could say he blamed them. Nature could be a beautiful thing, but it was never wise to mistake it as tame. The world was a savage garden ready to consume the unwary. People were much the same, as willing as they were capable of tearing each other apart. The resulting pulp didn't always sit well with some stomachs.]

That's assuming anyone's going to accuse you in the first place. Not much of an intimidation strategy if someone's still going to talk.

[and that was the only reason something gruesome but nonlethal would be perpetrated - in a prison, at least. Vincent can think of more than a few other scenarios in which someone might want the eye of a still living donor. depending on where they booked their next gig, he might even get to witness one of them himself.

if they do, maybe he ought to invite Kit. it's a curious consideration to have popped into his mind, although not entirely surprising at this point. this is one of the longest conversations he's had with another person in quite some time. whether that was due to the stress of the evening or the company itself, he still couldn't say.]

More personal to do it yourself, too. If you're that pissed then you shouldn't be looking to soften the blow.

People always talk.

[Kit took another pull from the cigarette and finally turned his gaze back toward Vincent. If people hadn't talked, he wouldn't have heard the rumor about Kit. If people hadn't talked, Kit wouldn't have gotten sent to the juvenile detention center. Anything that could form an opinion and could voice it could only be trusted so far.

Himself included.

All that he'd brought up, didn't that constitute as talking too much? He may not have given away too many personal details, but some people were observant enough to read between the lines. As such, there were things better left unsaid. Especially in the company of someone...who made him feel nostalgic.

Yet he kept talking, and he hadn't left.

Why was he really still there? Was it for Vincent's sake, or his own? He knew the answer. Or thought he did...and the selfishness of it disgusted him.]

It wasn't an eye, in any case.

[It hadn't been personal, either...though Kit had long since given up trying to convince himself of that fact. He was a selfish creature by nature. His defense of someone else had also been in his own best interest. That was all there had been to it.]

It was a cafeteria tray and someone lost...six teeth, I think? It's difficult to recall. They were pretty yellow and we were served corn that evening for dinner. [He flicked his ashes, and this time stamped them out so Vincent wouldn't have to.] There was an uproar and so much food started flying that it took the corrections officers on duty almost ten minutes to figure out all that blood wasn't condiments.

[And when he'd been asked why he'd done it? All Kit had told anybody was that he'd warned the other boy to stop talking if didn't want to be eating through a straw.

He never mentioned the things that piece of garbage had said about his roommate. About what he'd promised to do the moment Kit's back was turned.]

[they always did, he supposed. despite only looking out for themselves, people had a nasty habit of poking their noses where they weren't needed. it was something that he forgot, sometimes. it's a hard thing to remember when you're always leaving.

Kit's unprompted correction of the severely botched story elicits laughter from his companion - real laughter. it takes Vincent several moments to formulate a response, the cigarette bouncing jauntily between his fingers in time with the trembling of his shoulders. it was a brutal image, and yet there he was laughing as if he'd been told a fantastically amusing joke.

when was the last time that he'd laughed like this, without cynicism? the answer lies somewhere so long ago that he's no longer able to recall even the vaguest approximation of a date. an eternity since this sound had emerged...and yet he'd already done it twice tonight.

that was very dangerous.]

He never could tell vegetables apart.

[he murmurs the observation to himself, allowing one last soft chuckle as he finally settles down enough to take another drag off his cigarette. Styx could wail with the best of them, but he was never going to be an intellectual.]

It sounds like they should've been thanking you to me. Extractions are always a pain in the ass.

[Fully charged laughter was the last thing Kit expected from his companion, but after his initial surprise had worn off, he found Vincent's amusement to be quite understandable and infectious.

In hindsight, knowing how the incident had turned out for everyone involved, it really was very easy to laugh about. He hadn't walked away from the confrontation completely unscathed, but he'd felt that the minor scrapes and intensive community service he was given were both prices worth paying. For his own pride, and for the security of someone he...had come to view as a friend of sorts. Or a close acquaintance.

...the word itself didn't matter. He protected his associates. He always had. Except when he hadn't. When one had been a traitor and the other had told him to go.

Why had he listened? Was he so desperate then to save his own skin...?]

So...

[He shook his head, and with it, cast away his grim train of thoughts.]

You knew someone who was there at the same time as I was. I'm glad it wasn't the toothless one.

[However, there'd been so many coming and going all the time that isolating which person it was would be no small task. Anyone who couldn't even differentiate vegetables wasn't likely someone who'd drawn much attention from Kit.]

I should probably apologize for however many other erroneous stories you were told.

[he makes a vague noise of agreement, glad in his own way that the veil of amusement seemed to have dropped down on them both. it was more likely to prevent Kit from pointing out the sincerity in his laughter at a later date.]

If he'd been stupid enough to lose his teeth I'd have never met him in the first place.

[a vocalist with a speech impediment was hardly useful, even for a genre that often stretched its lyrics out into borderline gibberish. it's funny to think about now, though. if they'd chosen a different vocalist for the band then he likely would never have accepted Kit's invitation and found himself here. funny how paths moved like that.]

The bullshit's good for a laugh. If I actually believed any of them I'd be too braindead to deserve an apology.

[either way, there was no action required on Kit's part. people would talk, as he'd said.]

[Vincent might have been right in that Kit wouldn't point out the sincerity in his amusement, but that didn't mean he hadn't taken notice or that he'd forget. As surely as he'd registered his own comfort around his companion, he'd observed the way Vincent had seemed to relax significantly around him over the course of the night.

He almost wished he hadn't, of course, thinking himself undeserving of even the most tentative trust, but Vincent wasn't someone who appreciated being told what to do. Kit's only option in that case was to sit back and let things unfold as they would.

And...if it became too much? He looked at the stairwell across from where they stood. He knew where the exit was.]

How did you meet, then?

[There's a story there. A reason for why Vincent's friend having his teeth was important. And Kit was willing to listen to anything right now that would silence his self-sabotaging internal monologue.

Let them be the ones who talked for a little while. Just a little...]

[Kit will have to suffer on his own for just a little bit longer, as his companion draws out the silence for several agonizing moments as he contemplates whether he wants to divulge details as personal as that.

an ordinary person would hardly count such a trivial story as personal, but Vincent was intensely private. after all, the pair of them had suffered through so much tonight and he still had no intention of giving out his name if he didn't have to. but this involved someone else more than himself, and it never hurt to give the band a little publicity...

he makes a thoughtful sound, vaguely dissatisfied, and finally speaks up.]

We needed a vocalist for the band. He's not all that bright but he can at least read music and he's got a hell of a growl.

[...and their other shortlisted candidate was a little too into Satanism and had gotten himself arrested for leaving headless roosters in his ex-girlfriend's yard. petty details.]

You're in a band...

[Despite the note of surprise in his voice, Kit's words weren't posed as a question. He hadn't expected someone as unsociable as Vincent to be drawn to such an exuberant profession, but on second thought, perhaps it was its excitement and theatrical nature which provided appeal. On stage, Kit imagined a performer could behave almost any way he liked, or be anyone he wanted. In the right light, with the right song, even someone small could seem larger than life.

Had he known anyone at the detention center who was interested in music? For the life of him, he couldn't remember. But he thought that someone with a hell of a growl would have stood out if he'd met them. Or at least, they would have if he'd had the chance to hear such a thing, but considering how often he tuned out his peers...would it have been too surprising if he'd heard and simply chosen not to take notice?]

Growling... [With one final pull from his cigarette, Kit stamped out the butt against the wall and, before flicking it into the nearby trash, made certain there was nothing still left burning inside.] Metal, I presume?

[he nods, waving his own rapidly-dwindling cigarette and leaving a trail of smoke and carcinogens in its wake.]

Black.

[it's important to make the distinction. the subgenres of metal were as numerous as the stars in the sky, and Vincent didn't want to be mistaken for dabbling in any of the softer bits. but maybe that went without saying, that he'd gravitate towards whatever made others the most uncomfortable.

Kit's comment wasn't posed as a question, but he'd have to be deaf not to hear the surprise in his words. he supposed that without knowing the sort of music it might be shocking to hear he'd deign to interact with so many people that way, but as it was he couldn't say that it was all that intolerable - he and the others got paid to screech insults and threats of death at a thrilled audience. there was really no way he could lose.

still, he supposed if he'd come so far as to mention it, some vague form of explanation was in order.]

I'm irreplaceable, so they can't kick me even if they wanted to.

[At the mention of kicking Vincent out of the band, Kit only laughed. The mere thought of anyone trying to force the other boy into doing anything he didn't want to do, whether or not he really was irreplaceable, was something Kit knew to be more difficult than scaling a mountain. Truly, Vincent defined obstinate.]

The founder, perhaps? Or...

[Appearing more thoughtful, Kit considered the way his companion had been poring himself over that notebook of his earlier. He wished he'd taken a closer look at it when he'd held it in his hands, but for now he could only take an educated guess.]

...maybe the lyricist or, to be more precise, the songwriter?

[Players and even vocalists were easier to replace than the one who defined the signature sound of the band, or at least that's what made the most sense to Kit. But could the same theory really be applied to a genre as poignant as black metal?]

[a flicker of irritation crosses his face as his companion slams the nail on the head, overshadowing any satisfaction he might have felt over the laughter. it was true, after all - he rarely did anything he didn't want to, and his bandmates had far less stamina than Kit.

unfortunately, sometimes what he wanted was completely out of his hands. such is the case with his identity as the group's writer, despite his preference to keep that detail in the dark. Vincent makes a 'tsking' sound before crushing the lit end of his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger; the sting is an excellent way to keep him from brooding on the matter. it was his own fault for letting someone sneak up on him.]

Maybe. Guess it depends on how much you think I'm capable of.

[...well, not entirely out of his hands. Kit may have sussed out the truth, but that doesn't mean that he has to confirm it so readily. let him work for it a little bit.]

After our little experiment earlier, I'd feel comfortable betting that you're capable of enough to support your claim of being irreplaceable.

[Intimate knowledge of demonic folklore and cultural rituals? Kit couldn't think of a background that was more "metal" than that, except perhaps being raised by a Satanic cult. But then, what did he really know of the genre? It wasn't as though he'd ever felt compelled to listen to that brand of music on his own, his tastes tending toward the more melodic in nature than the obscene.]

Then again, even if I was correct, I don't suppose you'd feel courageous enough to produce evidence?

[He couldn't help his curiosity. What sort of lyrics had Vincent been writing earlier? Were they far-fetched and fantastical, or perhaps even inspired by something he'd seen in one of those hallucinations? Reading them off a sheet of paper might not yield the same effect as hearing them yowled into the deafening cries of a zealous audience, but for Kit...it would be preferred. Especially if it told him something more about his companion.]

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