Chapter Text
You glance all around you.
Silence.
The buildings around you are dark. Eerily quiet. You peer in a nearby window, only to find the room empty. Sure, there’s furniture, but there’s no sign of life.
You’ve come across some quiet towns in your travels, but Ambrose takes the cake. You creep up to a shop window. You’re excited to finally find living creatures in this (seemingly) ghost town. You smile softly at the puppies napping on the sill. You can’t help but coo through the glass. You’re quickly pulled from your puppy-based-hypnosis by something moving out of the corner of your eye.
You squint up at the apartment window, but the curtain is instantly yanked shut. You suddenly feel quite unwelcome in the small town. You try to shake your discomfort off, you only came for gas anyway. You didn’t think your car can make it through the washed out dirt road leading into the town, so you had trekked into Ambrose on foot, gas can in hand.
You spy a gas station up the road. Bingo. There’s your ticket out of this nerve-wracking town. You hike towards your savior, trying to make yourself look as unassuming as possible. Your eye is suddenly caught by an odd looking building. You squint at the large sign, momentarily sure that you had misread it.
House of Wax
A… wax museum? Kind of an odd thing for such a tiny town to have. You stand still for a few moments, staring at the large, angular building. You shake your fascination off, you need to get your gas and get back on the road. It’s not that you’re in any particular hurry; you don’t have a set designation. You just need to get this anxiety out of your head. You need to get out of this odd little town.
You trek up to the gas station. It’s a bit run down, but it’ll do. As soon as you get close, you notice the always dreaded sign.
Be Right Back
You can’t help but laugh out loud, of course the attendant is away the one time you need them. You stash your gas can by the station, and make your way towards the building that had caught your eye in the first place. You near the large doors.
Closed
You huff in exasperation. Is everything in this town closed?
You’re startled from your internal whining when you see… someone peaking out at you from around the nearest corner. They seem large, and their dark hair hangs over their broad shoulder.
“Hello?”
No response. You decide to approach the stranger, maybe they’re an employee. You jog around the corner, just barely catching the sight of long black hair before the person is gone. They obviously don’t want to be found, so you give up on the idea. You circle back to front of the museum.
Open
Did that person flip the sign? It’s good enough for you, so you cautiously enter the building. You take in the sight of the hyper-realistic wax figures. They’re unnerving (almost more so than the town itself) but also somehow beautiful. You can tell that a staggering amount of work went into every detail. You slowly make your way though the rooms, taking in the tiny figurines, oil paintings, and ornate furniture. You look more closely at a painting and spy a small signature.
Vincent
So someone named Vincent makes the paintings. You idly wonder who makes the wax sculptures. You pick up a figurine as carefully as possible, pushing down your guilt at touching the art, and are surprised to find that Vincent also makes the sculptures.
“Hmm, I’d sure like to meet this Vincent guy.” You murmur aloud to yourself. Obviously the shunning you’ve been getting from the townsfolk is getting to you.
You jump as you hear a thud come from the doorway. You whip around just in time to see that familiar flash of black hair.
“Hey! I don’t bite!” You’re quickly getting tired of being stalked by a stranger, so you take off after them. If they can follow you around, they can talk to you. You round the corner and come face to face with a man. He’s tall, and he has that oh-so-familiar black hair. He turns his face from you, hiding it behind the curtain of his hair. He comes across as painfully shy, or someone who has some serious social anxiety. You feel guilty for forcing him into a situation that makes him feel the need to hide.
“Ah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” You look down at your feet in an attempt to make him more comfortable.
He doesn’t respond. You glance up and see him shaking his head.
“Um. You don’t- uh, are you... nonverbal?” You blush. How awkward are you going to make this situation?
He nods. You sigh in relief. At least he’s not keeping silent out of anger.
“Are you Vincent, by any chance?” He nods again, his hair still obscuring his expression. As you glance around at his art, your appreciation of his work wells up and overflows.
“WOW! Your art is so amazing. I mean, you made those sculptures- they’re so lifelike- and those gorgeous paintings! You’re, like, the most impressive artist I’ve ever seen. You must have been training for so lon-” He turns to you in his surprise as you ramble. You notice for the first time that he’s wearing a skin-colored mask. It’s odd, sure, but whatever. Everybody has their quirks. You smile at him, and you wish that you could see if he’s smiling too.
“Anyway, um, I really love your work. Did you flip the open sign so I could see it?” You’re trying to be polite, so you look past his mask into his eyes- eye? He turns away from you when you peer into the empty eye hole in his mask.
A blush worms it’s way over your face. You’ve messed it up again! You think hard for a moment on how to remedy the situation. You take a small step towards him and hold out your hand.
“Sorry, I haven’t even introduced myself.” You tell him your name and leave your hand hanging in the air. He cautiously turns back to you, and gingerly takes your hand. He has a surprisingly gentle handshake for such a large man, but it fits his personality. You beam at him, feeling like maybe you’ve fixed the atmosphere. You find yourself wishing again that you could see if he’s smiling.
“So… do you have a favorite sculpture?” You grin as he motions for you to follow him into the display room. The gas can wait.