Midgar, several miles from WRO HQ - 7:30 AM
Who: Vincent Valentine, Reeve later on.
Status: Open. Closed for completion~
When: 7:30 AM -> 8:30 AM
Where: Midgar, several miles from WRO Headquarters; apartment complex -> WRO HQ.
What: Vincent's left feeling unsettled. He's ready, but not sure for what. Reeve then gets into contact with him.
A brief chill passed through him as he exited the back of the WRO van, and he felt his skin tighten in response despite the layers of clothing he wore. He half turned and nodded to the soldiers before they closed the metal doors of the trailer, tightening his grip on the two cases he held as he walked quickly to the small apartment complex. One suitcase carried his clothes, the other his array of weaponry he had brought with him. He would stay here a few weeks as needed, but a faint, unidentifiable feeling told him his stay would be longer than even that.
The metal, outdoor staircase was solid under his plated boots, and he ascended on the toes of his feet to create the least amount of noise. It wasn't so early in the morning, but he could see the closed blinds of the other condos.
He had rented an apartment on the upper levels of the complex, with easy access to the roof. Would that sort of escape be needed? It would be easy to doubt, but precautions were always necessary. Eventually, he came to a halt in front of the door, the room number 7A etched into the dark wood. He set his things by his feet, pushing his cloak aside to retrieve the keys he had hooked onto one of his belt loops. With an insert of the keys, the jiggling of a doorknob and the forcing of a stubborn lock, he was inside. He set the keys on a small table by the door after locking it, maneuvering deeper within the apartment to set his suitcases in the bedroom.
One bedroom, one full bathroom, and a living space with an adjoining kitchen area. The latter two would be of some rare use, but the apartment would at least be a more secure place to keep his things.
Admittedly, he was tired. Yet, there was a certain air of tense restlessness that he could find no relief from. He unbuckled the clasps of his cloak, carefully laying it across a wooden chair by a barren desk. Rolling his shoulders after the quick removal of the guards he usually wore upon them and setting those aside as well, he opened the bathroom door and flicked on the lights, inspecting it briefly. Relatively clean; it would do. Starting up the water for a shower, he opened up the small window fixed near the ceiling of the bathroom to allow circulation before undressing. His boots were thrown back into the bedroom, his gauntlet carefully removed from the stump of his arm and set on the bed.
The water was warm as he stepped into the spray and began to wash up, and it relaxed his muscles, but there was no break of the restlessness in his mind. It was that feeling of forgetting something of valid importance, or missing something entirely. As for what, it was increasingly difficult to pinpoint, but it left frustration on his brow and a foul taste in his mouth.
Nevertheless, after finishing the cleaning of his body, he shut off the water and stepped out, retrieving a clean white towel from a rack above the sink. He dried off, returned to the bedroom to garb himself with fresh clothes from his suitcase, and sat on the edge of the bed. He knew he would be unable to rest, so there was no use trying that. His bare foot rested against his weapon case, and he paused before down towards it to enter the code and unlock it. Replacing the gauntlet onto his left arm with a series of metallic clinks and the abrupt jerking of his arm as machinery locked onto muscle, he opened the case with his prosthetic arm.
Cerberus rested plainly in its comfortable lining, as well as the pieces of his rifle.
Vincent stared down at his weapons, as if they could give him some form of answer. He received nothing, of course, yet still removed them from the case, interlocking the pieces of the rifle and placing Cerberus into the holster on his thigh. He stood, reequipping himself with his shoulder guards, boots, and the addition of a back holster that would be hidden by his cloak. The rifle was placed in this holster; extra ammunition fitted into the compartments on his belt. He was, in essence, ready - but for what, he knew not.
Shutting the blinds, and returning briefly to the bathroom to close the window and turn off the light, he left his apartment (after securely locking it) and began to walk back to WRO headquarters.
Status: Open. Closed for completion~
When: 7:30 AM -> 8:30 AM
Where: Midgar, several miles from WRO Headquarters; apartment complex -> WRO HQ.
What: Vincent's left feeling unsettled. He's ready, but not sure for what. Reeve then gets into contact with him.
A brief chill passed through him as he exited the back of the WRO van, and he felt his skin tighten in response despite the layers of clothing he wore. He half turned and nodded to the soldiers before they closed the metal doors of the trailer, tightening his grip on the two cases he held as he walked quickly to the small apartment complex. One suitcase carried his clothes, the other his array of weaponry he had brought with him. He would stay here a few weeks as needed, but a faint, unidentifiable feeling told him his stay would be longer than even that.
The metal, outdoor staircase was solid under his plated boots, and he ascended on the toes of his feet to create the least amount of noise. It wasn't so early in the morning, but he could see the closed blinds of the other condos.
He had rented an apartment on the upper levels of the complex, with easy access to the roof. Would that sort of escape be needed? It would be easy to doubt, but precautions were always necessary. Eventually, he came to a halt in front of the door, the room number 7A etched into the dark wood. He set his things by his feet, pushing his cloak aside to retrieve the keys he had hooked onto one of his belt loops. With an insert of the keys, the jiggling of a doorknob and the forcing of a stubborn lock, he was inside. He set the keys on a small table by the door after locking it, maneuvering deeper within the apartment to set his suitcases in the bedroom.
One bedroom, one full bathroom, and a living space with an adjoining kitchen area. The latter two would be of some rare use, but the apartment would at least be a more secure place to keep his things.
Admittedly, he was tired. Yet, there was a certain air of tense restlessness that he could find no relief from. He unbuckled the clasps of his cloak, carefully laying it across a wooden chair by a barren desk. Rolling his shoulders after the quick removal of the guards he usually wore upon them and setting those aside as well, he opened the bathroom door and flicked on the lights, inspecting it briefly. Relatively clean; it would do. Starting up the water for a shower, he opened up the small window fixed near the ceiling of the bathroom to allow circulation before undressing. His boots were thrown back into the bedroom, his gauntlet carefully removed from the stump of his arm and set on the bed.
The water was warm as he stepped into the spray and began to wash up, and it relaxed his muscles, but there was no break of the restlessness in his mind. It was that feeling of forgetting something of valid importance, or missing something entirely. As for what, it was increasingly difficult to pinpoint, but it left frustration on his brow and a foul taste in his mouth.
Nevertheless, after finishing the cleaning of his body, he shut off the water and stepped out, retrieving a clean white towel from a rack above the sink. He dried off, returned to the bedroom to garb himself with fresh clothes from his suitcase, and sat on the edge of the bed. He knew he would be unable to rest, so there was no use trying that. His bare foot rested against his weapon case, and he paused before down towards it to enter the code and unlock it. Replacing the gauntlet onto his left arm with a series of metallic clinks and the abrupt jerking of his arm as machinery locked onto muscle, he opened the case with his prosthetic arm.
Cerberus rested plainly in its comfortable lining, as well as the pieces of his rifle.
Vincent stared down at his weapons, as if they could give him some form of answer. He received nothing, of course, yet still removed them from the case, interlocking the pieces of the rifle and placing Cerberus into the holster on his thigh. He stood, reequipping himself with his shoulder guards, boots, and the addition of a back holster that would be hidden by his cloak. The rifle was placed in this holster; extra ammunition fitted into the compartments on his belt. He was, in essence, ready - but for what, he knew not.
Shutting the blinds, and returning briefly to the bathroom to close the window and turn off the light, he left his apartment (after securely locking it) and began to walk back to WRO headquarters.