A Vampire and a Mortician Wake Up in a Moor

Vincent stumbled into the nondescript car and signaled for its immediate take off, the friendly electronic voice responding with an enthusiastic "Yes sir! Right away, sir!" The autopilot revved the engine and they were off, several men behind them clamoring into their own cars.

Leaving the driving to VIRGIL, the autopilot (among many other things) Vincent quickly shed his jacket and pulled up the side of his shirt that was now soaked with blood. A shame, really, this was a nice suit. But he had many others, and the pressing matter right now was taking care of a gash in his side. He pulled a first aid kit from his glove box as the car swerved sharply to throw them off of the trail of headlights behind him. His packet of quick clot to seal the wound hadn't been replaced since its last use. Swaying with the movements of the evading vehicle, Vincent slipped on gloves and attended to his wound, cleaning it out and and tightly wrapping bandages around the dressing. It was a pain to deal with, but certainly better than what it might have been had he not diverted the original direction of his attacker's hidden blade. He looked toward the passenger seat at the suitcase he had stolen from the attacker, just to make sure it was still there.

VIRGIL managed to lose the tail and Vincent, after tucking his shirt in and replacing his jacket, took over and drove to a remote field outside of the city, where the small helicopter was waiting. He pat his inside jacket pocket, to make sure what he needed was still there, and got out of the car, suitcase in hand. The weight of the job lifted a bit as he approached the chopper. He was almost done. He knew he shouldn't have relaxed so quickly, but he was tired and this job was particularly straining. Of course, when he got to the doorway to step inside, karma quite literally hit him in the head with a baseball bat.

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Vincent didn't sleep often, and when he did it was not restful. So as you can imagine, waking up from true unconsciousness was rather alien to him. Being dumped in a foreign place didn't help either. All Vincent knew was that he had lost the suitcase, and his head hurt. He slowly propped himself up on his elbows and groaned as his the sharp pain in his side reminded him of his earlier escapades. It was daytime and he was outside, and though he wished he had a hat, at least the sky was obscured by a thick layer of clouds.

Eventually, he sat up and took in his surroundings. He appeared to be in the middle of nowhere, and while Vincent was well versed in geography, he could not pin down where exactly he was. He stood up, brushed the grass from his expensive and now bloodied suit. Turning around he saw a young man sitting on a rock on an adjacent hill and looking quite cold. Vincent always felt cold, and didn't notice the actual temperature until now. As if on cue, snowflakes began to fall from the heavy clouds above.

Vincent wasn't sure who this person was, but they didn't look like they were familiar with the area either. Vincent's face remained untouched by confusion or worry or even the sting of his wounds as he walked toward the stranger. It was probably a rather unwelcome sight, really, a tall, stone faced man bleeding from head with a beautiful, but very ruined suit silently approaching you.

Vincent did not return the greeting. Chit chat was low of the priority list and if he wanted to get anywhere, he was going to have to move before this snow got too bad. Though the snow didn't stick, the dark clouds threatened to make the ground subservient to their will, and the breeze that had started to pick up didn't help Vincent's concern that a blizzard might be coming.

He-, no, they had to move quickly. Vincent didn't know much about the man that, for some unknown reason, was just sitting here, but it was clear that he had been put in a similar position. It was disappointing that this friendly man likely didn't know where they were either and he wasn't sure how mobile he was as he looked rather sickly. Probably drugged. That would explain why he here.

"Come on. Get up. Let's go find shelter," Vincent said, motioning for him to get up. "We'll freeze otherwise."

"I wouldn't underestimate the potential of exposure, if I were you. I doubt dying slowly out here would be a pleasant experience," Said the half dead man to the other half dead man.

Vincent was a patient man by default, but watching the stranger stand up as slowly as was physically capable of a person while still maintaining balance, and then taking additional time after that to catch his breath was not exactly a good sign. However, being stranded in some place with unknown mountains behind them did nothing to ease his mind. Neither did the cold, wet, bloodied shirt clinging to his side serving as a constant reminder that he did not look presentable, and probably wouldn't look presentable anytime soon.

Observing Gus collect himself, Vincent almost offered to carry him. If he thought he could do it without making his side worse, he would. Once he carried a young woman several miles to safety after she had lost one of her legs. Now, however, crippling himself would not be the wisest course of action, even if that meant they had to take it a little slower.

Vincent glanced at the outstretched hand and answered his question instead of returning the gesture. "Vincent." He didn't typically give out his real name, but some small sentimental part of him wanted this man to know his name if, for one reason or another, one or both of them die here. "Tell me what you know about the surrounding area." He suspected it wasn't much.

Vincent almost smiled. Almost really meaning the thought of a smile whisked briefly across his face. "It's not as bad as it could be. The original strike was aimed at my stomach. I can't really complain that I'm not dead." It would be okay for now, but the bandages probably needed changing, as he had no idea how long he was out, and he only had limited supplies with him. Then he felt his side and, despite the wind and what he assumed were the hours he was lying in the grass, his jacket was still rather wet. Either he was still bleeding terribly, which didn't feel like the case, or it had only taken a few minutes, if that, for him to actually get here. But that didn't make sense. He didn't recognize this area at all.

"If you saw a river that way, then that is where we will go," Vincent replied simply, starting in that direction and glancing back to see if Gus was following him. This was going to be a long trip, and the snow was picking up. At least they had some semblance of direction, he supposed. Whatever was going to happen, they had to stay calm. Which brought up another question.

"You seem rather calm under the circumstances."

Vincent stopped and looked back at Gus, his face actually conforming to an expression of serious concern. Of course, he didn't even think to interpret those words as 'we are currently dead'. After all, Vincent was very much alive. The pain pulsating from the side of his head and the sharp twinge in his side as he walked served as a sufficient reminder of that. However, he didn't know exactly how he should interpret this. The possibilities ranged from something as simple as hopelessness to the very not simple suicide bombing, or something similar. While the latter did not appear to be the case, Vincent certainly couldn't rule it out.

A thousand possible outcomes and courses of action ran through his head as he started to make assumptions. Anxiety was setting in and, while Vincent had been in difficult and unexpected situations, nothing had been quite like this. If he could see the purple sky above the clouds, it would be quite different, but for now he was quite sure he was on Earth, and not even remotely knowing where they were made him quite uncomfortable. For now, he thought, he just had to stay calm and take things as they presented themselves. He swallowed his currently irrational conclusions and returned to his calm, unemotional demeanor.

"Dead? You shouldn't be so pessimistic, Mr. Gus. I am a highly trained individual. You and I will be just fine." It was as much a warning not to try anything as it was (supposed to be) a reassurance.

Murdered. Unliving. Okay. Vincent took another moment of analysis and breathed in deeply, partially to remind himself he was definitely breathing. It was difficult enough to come to terms with one’s own demise. It was even harder to accept death, and then learning that it was not, in fact the end, and it was obvious that Gus had accepted death. Vincent, however, did not doubt his status of living.

His apology was obviously rehearsed, and it was apparent that this man worked in either a hospital or a mortuary. Vincent had his own “I’m sorry for your loss” routine that he had perfected over many uses, though he felt his method was more sincere. He found himself wandering into a critique of Gus’ method when he put his mind back on track.

“There’s no reason to be sorry. I am very alive. I am a doctor, Mr. Gus, I think I would know, ” Vincent started, quickly checking his neck for his pulse. It was irregular, but it was always irregular. “Look,” he grabbed one of Gus’ hands to place his fingers over his wrist where his pulse could be found, “My heart is beating, if that is how you define living. I am breathing. The synapses of my mind are firing and I am responding to the stimuli around me. I am in pain, and we need to get to this river, if it exists, before the weather gets worse.” His voice was calm as he tried to keep the situation as together as possible. The last thing he wanted to deal with was this already weakened man having some sort of breakdown.

Vincent retracted his hand and put it in his pocket. He was missing his gun. That was alright, he supposed. For now it would be easier to work with someone who wasn't constantly worrying and making rash decisions for "their own survival." And while ignoring one's mortality could be just as dangerous, it wasn't worth the trouble at this very moment. It was kind of odd that apparently Gus was thoroughly convinced he was some sort of undead, but that he will have to wait until they found shelter from the snow, which continued to pick up.

Vincent turned back again before rolling his eyes without another word and headed... whatever direction. It infuriated him to not know which direction was North. The clouds in the sky hid the sun, but even the clouds seemed strange, like the light was dispersed evenly above them and it made Vincent wonder if they were truly outdoors. Maybe this was an obscure... hallucination? Simulation? The wet snow felt real. They were probably able to freeze and die. The only thing he could really do now was keep his guard up and forge temporary solution while he figured all this out.