Colorblind [August]

[Waddle]

Things were looking well. The ruins were beautiful, the sunlight superb. As for wind, there was none. No one else was in sight as Vaughn approached the ruins. Under one arm was a square case, a larger but thinner version of a briefcase, on his back was a backpack, and under the other arm was a folded-up wooden stand. It was easy to walk there, but not so easy to climb over tumbles of rock to get to what he wanted to paint - the sun peeking over the main part of the ruins. Vaughn ended up skinning his knees and dropping the stand three times before he got there. He didn't mind the sting of the gravel in his skin; he brushed it off and left what he couldn't get at that moment. When he got something in his mind, he never left it alone.

With a soundless sigh and a glance around, he set his things on the ground, set up the stand, and unclipped the case. Pulling out a wooden frame with canvas stretched across it, he placed it carefully on the frame and glanced at what he was about to take from real life and put onto the canvas. Opening the backpack, he pulled out a pastel and several brushes. After fixing up the pastel to where it had the colors he would need on it, he took a few long, experimental strokes on the canvas, more to loosen up his fingers and wrist than anything. He was smiling when he started painting for real, glancing only occasionally at what he was actually painting. His photographic memory was more reliable than what he could see with his eyes. The sun was rising rapidly; it was early morning, six-thirty according to his estimates. He'd left his apartment at six. The sun rose quickly, no matter what time of year it was, but it rose earlier in the summer than in the winter. It was already higher than it had been when he'd started out, even though he'd been painting for...

The time had gotten away from him. He'd been standing there for a good two hours, and most of the picture was finished. He wasn't going to get distracted, but it was hard once he realized that blood was seeping down his leg into his sock from where he'd skinned his knees. I knew I should have worn some jeans instead of these shorts.[/i] His brow drew down as he examined the wounds. It was hardly anything, and yet the blood didn't want to clot. His head cocked sideways with curiosity. Sitting down there, he put the pastel and brush he was holding to the side and poked curiously at the wounds. It was nothing, really. They just wouldn't clot. He shrugged it off and stood back up, taking his brush and pastel in hand and continuing the almost-finished painting.[/size]

[Augustus is a SWOObat]

August walked as slow as she could, making Greg pull most of the weight. He said he was going to show her what Hunters do, and that only meant bad news. She had tried to run away four times already, the last being the final straw for Gregory. He'd gotten some rope and tied it around her waist. Now he yanked her along like a dog. She was sulking and refusing to move. Their progress was jerky and very slow, full of growls from Greg and snickers from August. The rope was chaffing her waist, always finding a way to get under her shirt and irritate her skin. Greg was talking, but she wasn't exactly listening. August didn't really think Greg talked in English. In reality, he did, but to August it just sounded like a serious of grunts.

The only good thing was the weather. It was really pretty, and the wonderful trees and the nice colored gravel and the pretty color of the sky didn't hurt. August tried to talk about it with Greg, just to get him to stop grunting. He didn't care. August kept looking at how the colors complimented each other well. Her favorite was the different color of gravel. Some of it was grey, light brown, a few black, a couple of speckled stones, but there was a red spot. August stopped moving to look closely. She crouched down and balanced on the ball of her feet. It wasn't a red stone like she thought it was. It was crimson blood. Greg said something and tugged on her leash. She was pulled forward and landed on her butt. Greg dragged her a bit, being the wonderful gentleman he is. August scrambled to her feet and kept walking, only glancing back at the red spot once.

"Not sure if he's still there. Been two hours since i got an update." Honestly, August had no idea what they were going to do. She didn't even know someone else would be involved. She'd been under the impression they were going to "practice", which was code for "beat the hell out of her." Suddenly, Greg stopped moving, and August bumped into his muscular back. From her view point, she could tell he was grinning, but at what was still a mystery. He was standing there, like a lump, blocking her view. August peered over his side to see a boy. The boy was cute and all, but that wasn't what made her stare. It was the picture he was painting. It wasn't finished, but it was beautiful. Her head cocked to the side and she walked around Greg to get a closer look.

All of a sudden, she reached the end of the string and fell flat on her butt. The pretty colored gravel dug into her hands, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to tingle in an unpleasant way. From her new vantage point, she noticed he was bleeding. "By the way, You're bleeding." She always pointed out the obvious. She'd blurt it out and feel really dumb afterward, but she was so bewitched by his painting, she didn't have time to feel dumb. Her fingers fumbled with the tight knot, but now that she had more determination, she could undo it much faster. She was free, and Greg was upset. He yelled something at her, but she didn't pay it any mind. August took off her striped bandanna and wrapped it tight around the boy's knee, not even sure if she was doing it right. August had never taken a medical course or nothing, and she didn't know first aid. Oh well, it was only a really bloody scrape.

August stood up and stared at the painting. Her favorite thing about it was the colors. Each of them looked realistic, but some how more beautiful than Nature made them. Bleeding-Boy made it prettier somehow, but without making it look fake. August looked at him from the corner of her eye, and her jaw dropped slightly. His eyes were by far the prettiest thing she'd seen all day, and her day had been filled with pretty things. "Beautiful." August snapped her jaw closed and quickly looked back at the painting, hoping her blush wasn't that noticeable.

[Waddle]

Gravel crunched behind him. At first, Vaughn ignored it, until it came closer and closer. Finally, he glanced back over his shoulder, looked back at the painting, then froze. People were behind him. Slowly, he turned, his mouth slightly open in surprise. He hadn't expected anybody to be out here, especially not at nine in the morning. No that it was late, but most people wouldn't be this far into the ruins, at any time. The girl had a rope around her waist. Vaughn's head cocked sideways. Canadians were the strangest. He'd only been here for a couple days and yet he'd seen the strangest assortment of people he'd ever seen in his life in this one little town.

The girl came to the end of her rope and fell down. Vaughn stepped closer to help her up, but then really looked at the guy standing behind her and froze. The guy's eyes had murder in them. Vaughn retracted his step, glad that the girl seemed just fine on the ground. Then she pointed out the obvious. Vaughn glanced at his knee, then gave a weak smile to her. It said basically "I know." She seemed entranced by his painting. Either that or the scene behind it. Vaughn glanced at them both, then at the girl. She was already untying the knot around her waist and the bandanna around her head and tied it around his knee. He wanted to thank her, and even mouthed the words, but she wasn't looking at him. He tried to help her stand up, but she was already up. Cursing his slowness in his head, he stepped a little bit sideways, away from her. Heat crawled up his neck and into his face.

He thought she glanced sideways at him, but tried to not look back in case he was wrong. Then she said 'Beautiful', and then he looked at her. She wasn't looking at him. He quickly looked at the painting. Were they playing some sort of game?! It was beginning to make his head pound. She was so pretty, beautiful, even, in her own way. Long red hair and gray eyes. Her eyes, even though he could only see one, were beautiful. Realizing he was starting at her, Vaughn jerked his eyes away, right at the same time someone shoved him harshly from behind. Vaughn sprawled onto the ground, pastel and brush clattering on the rock. He rolled over onto his back quickly and sat up in time to see the murder-eyed guy spit on his painting. He turned a sneer on Vaughn, then reached to grab it.

Vaughn's legs shot out. One kicked the guy in his left knee, the other hooked behind his other knee. The left leg kicked backwards, while his right knee hit the ground. Vaughn grabbed the guy's shirt and threw him to the ground. Vaughn rolled on top of him, got to his knees on the guy's chest and pressed his face hard into the ground. Greg's elbow came back and smashed into Vaughn's. His grip loosened and Greg bucked him off. Jumping to his feet, Vaughn moved to stand in between Greg and his painting. And the girl, of course. The girl.

Greg got to his feet and spat to the side. "You just asked to die, Innocent." Innocent? How did the guy know?! The surprise must have been on his face because Greg smirked again. "Yeah, we know more than you'd expect, you stupid Brit." We. He said 'we'. That meant the girl was probably a Hunter too. But she'd been tied... Was she an Innocent like Vaughn? Doubtful, because Greg wasn't much bothered when she untied herself. Vaughn looked behind himself, then stepped a little bit to the side, near his painting but making sure his back wasn't to either of them. He was ready to fight. But he didn't want to fight the girl. He didn't want to hurt the girl. If it was a test of strength, Greg would win. Vaughn was fast, but if they both advanced on him, he would need to run. He could easily shift forms and leap away, but what if one of their talismans was something faster? A cheetah, maybe? How did they even know about him?!

"What's wrong, kid? Cat got your tongue?" The guy smirked. If they knew so much about Vaughn, they would know he was mute. Vaughn steadied himself, snapped his mouth shut with a click, and glared between them. Vaughn would fight before running, if he had a chance to save his hard work.

[Augustus is a SWOObat]

August shoved Greg playfully. When she was in a good mood, she sometimes forgot who she was with. Greg didn't seem so bad, not with Vaughn's permeable goodness balanced it out. "Why are we so serious??" She started to giggle because the moment was so tense and giggle-inappropriate. "Your painting is pretty on a canvas." She liked the texture the paint made on the slightly coarse canvas. You couldn't get the same texture on regular paper. Greg was scowling. He didn't like it when August was so happy. That's why Greg did what he did. He spit on the canvas before August could stop him. The look on August's face was mostly shock. She acted like he shot it a thousand times over with a handgun. "Just a dumb painting."

To August it wasn't just a dumb painting. There was a lot of pretty in it, and a lot of work. Greg wasn't good at anything artsy, so he wouldn't know how long it takes to make anything pretty. Everything about Greg was ugly aside from his face. He had no talent aside from hurting and destroying and that could hardly be called a talent. Greg never had anything important to him to ruin, aside from his face. He was so shallow, the only beauty he considered to be true beauty was what he saw in the mirror and the figures of busty woman. August tried to wipe Greg's spit off but she just smeared the painting. He'd almost missed, but had managed to mess up the corner. August's smear ended up looking a little like a heart. She frowned. It had been almost perfect. Why did Greg have to ruin everything? Painter-Boy probably didn't want to be her friend anymore. "I'm sorry." She was apologizing for both Greg and her terrible attempt at fixing his painting. An artist she was not.

Greg grunted. "Don't apologize. He doesn't deserve one." Then Greg went into a storm of cussing. He talked about finger-painting pansies and how they weren't really men, and this cutesy little kid couldn't be consided even half a man. August was getting pretty fed up with his rant, and she was about ready to start yelling at Greg for being.. Greg. Her dumb Hunter-acquaintance hadn't even been looking at her. If he had, he would have seen her face and get the hint to shut up before she did something bad. Not with brutal strength, that wasn't how she worked. She would hurt him over a long period of time using something he didn't understand, his own emotions. Suddenly, he grabbed Painter-Boy's collar and hoisted him in the air. He started to hiss his curses and mean words. August was furious, and she knew this was not a good time to stand by, let Greg do what Greg was going to do, and get revenge later. It was going to take immediate action, and that was something August wasn't good at. She kicked him in the back of the knee, but she was pretty sure she only hurt herself. "Let him go!" Greg laughed and shook Painter-Boy. "Make me. And August knew she couldn't.

[Waddle]

A smile spread across Vaughn's face as the girl giggled. She was so cute. This was definitely not the time to be giggling, and yet she was. Her compliment made him glance back to the painting, taking it in as if he were a simple viewer, not the artist, and an artist. Then a spit wad appeared on the corner of the painting, and his smile disappeared. Instead of copying the girl's shock, Vaughn's reacting made his paint-stained fingers clench around his paintbrush and pastel. He realized that he had paint on his hands and halfway up his forearms, as well as smudges on his face. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that his painting had a smudge on it. Just a little one, easily remedied. The part that got him angry was the mere presence of the guy.

She was kind, too. She tried to fix it, and only managed to make it worse. Because she was actually trying to fix it, and that her attempt made a little heart, Vaughn's mouth twitched up into a small smile. He shrugged her apology away, regaining his cool quickly. Calmly, he listened to the Hunter's rant, watching him with dark brown eyes. He appeared unruffled on the outside, but he was losing his patience with this bastard.

Vaughn wasn't short, but Greg was strong. It was an easy matter to lift the thin Innocent into the air by the collar. Vaughn choked, dropping his pastel and paintbrush, clutching at Greg's hands, clawing at them in an attempt to loosen their hold. His head was jostled back and forth as he was shaken; he was pretty sure his brain hit the sides of his skull repeatedly.

The girl may not have been able to help him, but Vaughn didn't need help. He kicked his captor in the crotch as hard as he could. Greg cried out in pain and released him. Vaughn didn't give him a chance to recover as he punched him once in the stomach, then, as Greg doubled over, he punched him on the ear. Greg sprawled. "Why you mother fu-" Greg started to say, but Vaughn took a handful of his shirt, hauled him up and slammed his back into a pile of rubble. Once, twice, three times he punched him, all on the face. Then he paused, waiting to see if Greg would give in, staring him hard in the eyes. But Greg wasn't done yet.

He brought his knee up into Vaughn's stomach, knocking the wind from him. Breaking free of his grasp, Greg hit him twice, once on the shoulder, second on his neck. Greg lashed out to grab Vaughn's neck, and undoubtedly break it, but Vaughn sidestepped and ducked, stooping low to avoid the hand. Greg tried to use pure force, but Vaughn was simply too quick. They were evenly matched, but Vaughn had the landscape to his advantage. Greg's footing was poor, and his folly came when he tried to grab hold of Vaughn again. He stepped on a rock that skittered out from under his foot. He went to one knee, and Vaughn reversed his dodge, instead making it into a round-house kick that connected solidly with the side of Greg's head. Greg had a hard head, and though he was sent sprawling again, he was not unconscious.

Vaughn, breathing hard, set the bottom of his shoe on Greg's face and pressed down hard. Bone snapped as Greg's nose was broken. Smirking, Vaughn put both feet back on the ground, turned and walked back to his painting, picking up his pastel and brush. He slowly examined the problem of the painting. The fight had lasted mere minutes, but the paint was already try. He could chip it away and repaint it, though it would never look just the same again. It would be almost unnoticeable, except to his eyes. He may have looked distracted by the painting, but he was quite aware of both of the other two in the area.

[Augustus is a SWOObat]

August was in a panic, and then the fight ended. Her panic didn't though. She didn't know who to flutter useless over. Greg was hurt worse, but he had been asking for the fight. His nose was broken and he was curled up in the fetal position. August thought very briefly about going to help him, but remembered the last time she had tried to. She would probably just get shoved onto the floor. Greg never did like being around her. He said she was a pathetic excuse for a Hunter. August was already feeling more fond of the stranger for the sole reason that he was nicer than Greg. It wasn't like the stranger had done anything nice to her, but it wasn't hard to beat Greg in a nice contest.

August let herself look over at her painter. He was looking at his painting, and she approached him slowly so as not to scare him. "Are you.. are you okay?" August pulled up his shirt. A bruise was already starting to flower its way across his skin. The point of impact was black and it slowly faded to purple before returning to a slightly yellower shade of skin. She kissed the dead center of his bruise, hoping it wouldn't get worse. She noticed another bruise snaking down from his shoulder. It was just starting to form. August pulled off his shirt and kissed that bruise too. August didn't know much about injuries, but bruising so bad in such a little amount of time couldn't be good.

August kissed his shoulder again and again, gently touching the bruise on his stomach. She moved onto the one at his neck, and started to lose her train of thought. She couldn't remember why she was kissing him.. but she didn't really want to stop.

[Waddle]

Shrugging as a first response to her question, Vaughn tried to stop his shirt from being removed, but only for a second. He could only watch in confusion as she kissed him, once, twice, then again, and again, and again. What was she doing? She seemed... desperate, and sympathetic, like she thought it was her fault he had huge bruises forming on his body. Unable to react for several seconds, he finally forced his hands into motion, putting one hand under her chin and gently lifting her face up to look at him. He smiled and tapped her lips with his other hand, then tapped his own lips, basically saying 'Your lips go on my lips. Not my bruises.' Leaning down, he kisses her, hesitantly, gently. It was barely a kiss. He kept expecting her to shove him away and slap him.

But Vaughn was the one to break the contact. Grabbing her by the arms, he pulled her to the side, let her go, and rounded on Greg. The bigger man had thrown a lousy punch. It would have hurt, had it connected, but Greg had been putting all his strength and single-mindedness into it. Vaughn took advantage of that, punching him in the throat, then on the temple, and stepped away. Greg fall on the ground, unconscious. Turning to his backpack, Vaughn bent down to take out a notebook. Producing a pen from his pocket and flipping to one of the few clean pieces of paper in it, he scribbled a message, then held it out for the girl to see. "This guy bothers you a lot, doesn't he? Who does he think he is? Are you okay?"

He held it up just long enough so she could read it, then shut it and put it back where it belonged, safe in his pack. He had a lot of drawings in there, sketches and doodles that he didn't want to get dirty. Then he thought he might need to further communicate with her. Tearing out the sheet, he zipped his backpack up and turned to face her again, head tilted just a bit sideways. He couldn't help but to marvel at her childish beauty, how she could look so innocent and still have a fox-like resemblance. She had a fascinating beauty, and Vaughn found himself wanting to draw her. Unconsciously, he took out a small camera from his pocket and took a picture of her, smiling. Somehow, he knew he was going to put everything else on halt for her. And that meant everything, not just his art.