No. He wasn’t alright. Vince was… (angry, frustrated, hurt, aching) at the fact that this was still bloody happening. He’d had dreams of a similar likeness. Not the blasted pirate this time, but worse perhaps. Visions, images, of other versions of himself— or were they demons come to plague him with what ifs? The fact that they were trickling into his waking reality was a horrendous side effect he had overlooked. Something had to be done. Something had to be done, alone, and soon.
As he knelt there in the veritable muck, water soaking into his trousers from the recent rain and hands trembling as he tried to regain his composure, there was nothing to be done for the ferocious growl he leveled at whomever it was come to check on him. He didn’t need anyone’s help, status be damned. He would fight his way out of this the way he had all the other lapses, and would continue to do until it broke him.
“Get away from me,” he managed to snarl, even as a pretty face - familiar, maybe - stumbled into view.
![[Image: vincesig.gif]](https://sig.grumpybumpers.com/host/vincesig.gif)
i desire very little but the things i do consume me