... Last were his boots, which he fastened with great haste. He was running late as the clock downstairs chimed six-thirty. The chill of the morning eased into his room through the open window but he ignored the cold. He leapt from the bed, his apparel in sharp form, and he threw open his closet doors as he searched for his weaponry.
"Des!" he called, rather breathless. "Why didn't you wake me?"
A small breeze entered the room, a sign of Desdemona's appearance, and she spoke in a haunting, yet melodious voice. "I don't like the organization you're working for."
"We've been over this," Vincent grunted. "I'm a Soulkeeper, I'm automatically under the Spiritual Defense Organization's command once I'm of... age!" The contents of the closet collapsed, burying him in a mountain of clothes. He gradually weaseled his way out, ignoring Des as she giggled in delight. He turned to her, realizing she was looking right at him as she continued to laugh.
"... What?" He thought it might have been the distaster of the avalanche of clothes that threw her into a fit. Or perhaps it was? Vincent sighed; he'd never be able to understand women.
"Your shirt," she finally answered in a small voice, fighting back a snicker. He cocked his head, confused. "They don't commission the winter uniform for another week."
Great, Vince, even a phantom knows your work schedule better than you. And what kind of BS was that? It was the dead of winter already, or at least it felt that way, but of course the SDO had to wait until the 21st of December to allow him to wear a uniform that wouldn't let his ass get frostbite. They nitpicked worse than his mother.
Sighing, he quickly shed his shirt, hesitating as he stared at his pile of clothes in vain before leaping in. Even if the SDO put him through rigorous hours day in and day out, there were perks to being under their employment. The well defined muscle in his arms and shoulders bellied a skill in archery, the modesty of his chest and abdomen noting an equal balance of strength and agility. He trained with his father vigilantly in his wolf form, perhaps Vincent's weakest area if you were to name one. He was not a purebred, or truly belonging solely to a wolf species of any kind, and therefore synchronizing with his wolf instincts was extremely difficult.
Finding the item of clothing he required, he hastily put it on, catching the clock by his bedside at 6:40. Ten minutes late. Fuck. The boss is gonna have my head on a platter. He fidgeted with the collar, the itchy fabric tight against his skin, and once more scavenged for his weapons.
"I want to go with you," she chimed as he kneeled to look under his bed.
"Des, you'll be exorcized the instant the Soulkeepers spot you. Besides..." He leapt to his feet, a hand on his hip as he scratched his head. Glancing up, he found with great relief and grief that his weapons lied on the desk Des sat herself upon. Busying himself as he gathered his bow, quiver, and clawed gauntlets, he continued, "... you could get hurt and I can't guarantee your safety if you come along on a mission with me."
She leaned forward, catching his attention, his eyes flickering to the parting folds of her dress for a split moment. "You and I both know I'm perfectly capable of handling myself..." A soft smile adorned her face as she reached up and lightly passed over a lock of his hair, moving it slightly with the soft wind of her movements. "... I'm just worried about you."
He grinned, knowing her worries were unfounded. He'd yet to emerge from a mission with anything worse than a few scratches and a couple bruises. And after two years of working for the SDO, Vincent was sure he'd been through the worst of it.
"C'mon... You can walk with me 'til I get to headquarters," said Vincent, winking as he beckoned her to take the offer, already making his way out the door.
