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<b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">LOCATION || </span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Zodiac Island Manor | Vincent's Quarters<br/>
<b>MENTIONING || </b>Veronica Sterling (<a class="username" data-user-id="9607" data-username="cressray" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/9607/">cressray</a>) </span><br/>
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<b><i><div style="border: 0px;font-color:transparent;height: 1px;background-image:linear-gradient(to right, transparent, darkred, transparent); margin: 7px 0px 7px 0px"></div></i></b>​</div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Vincent began striding closer towards the mansion that stood on Terramore, waltzing towards the grand front door like he owned the building. Though as he began to enter, just before he passed underneath the threshold, something hit the shoulder of his designer suit with a wet splatter. Immediately the man halted in his stride, his hand on the door handle of the mansion door as his eyes slowly turned towards his shoulder, where a fresh splat of bird shit sat stark white against the obsidian of his suit. His eyes darted upwards, in search of the culprit who had likely ruined his fucking suit. <br/>
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"You goddamned winged pest!" Vincent shouted upwards at the sky once his eyes landed on a nearby bird, which soared towards the ground closer to where he had left Idris and the others. He watched, his jaw slowly coming open, as the bird landed and then morphed into the form of a man - a very large and feral looking man. A man that he watched turn his eyes towards his daughter. He'd... he'd<i> shit</i> on him. <i>On purpose.</i> Anger filled Vincent's chest, along with an odd sense of familiarity. He knew the man's face, though he couldn't quite place his name. Samuel maybe? He had never spent much time with the man for he'd been a newcomer when the Culling had began and had otherwise been deemed by Vincent and the other Supers much too wild to be placed in the view of the public. He made a mental note to personally make the man's life a living hell in the future days to come, however long it took for such days to arrive. <br/>
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Reigning himself in, Vincent cleared his throat and turned back towards the mansion door, pulling it open as he strode inside. He ascended a first flight of stairs, mahogany steps and handrails running up the side of one wall, exposing one of the residential halls of the manor. His journey took him down the hallway to the left, all the way to the end, and to the last door on the right. The dark wooded door was unlocked to his glee - he hadn't been sure if he'd locked it before his departure or not and had long since lost the key. As he strode inside, taking in the dark wood furniture and the black and red accents that mimiced the Darkness in his soul, a sense of ease washed over him. He'd made it. No one would be the wiser for it. For within that room, tucked away in a lock box underneath the floorboards below his bed, documents about one Veronica Sterling existed... and no one could know what she was to Vincent. <br/>
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As soon as he'd locked the door behind him, Vincent changed out of his suit and into a pair of dark designer jeans, another suave set of Italian leather shoes, and a black v-neck shirt. He placed his dirty clothes in the hamper before returning to the main room of his quarters. Vincent then began the process of sliding his large bed to the side, flipping over the edge of the crimson Persian rug as his fingers found the loose board underneath and pried it to the side. There within the floor, a dusty metal box. Fishing in his pocket, Vincent produced the key with a smirk. After opening the box, he grabbed the documents within and put back in place the board, the rug, and then his bed before he took the documents to his desk situated in the corner of the room, directly in front of his large stone fireplace. As he began the process of getting a fire started, moving some logs stacked on a log rack beside the structure into the fireplace itself and lighting it before he moved to the desk, looking over the documents. He found himself lost there, in the information he had. In the memories the information brought. And one by one, he began burning it all, the pieces of paper floating into the fireplace, where the fire devoured the paper like a ravenous beast. </span><br/>
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