Birds still chirped outside of the windows of most homes in Eddington on good days. When Violet woke, following his usual routine for the day and making his best effort to fit as much self care as he could into one hour before he needed to begin working, he tried to let air in to make his day feel more natural. In between sips of coffee, stretches across his yoga mat, and ironing his shirts, he would pause, listening to the chirp of morning doves or finches. On this morning, he woke without feeling; his body slumped upwards like a marionette on worn strings. He'd only felt this sensation a few times; the first was a waking nightmare as a child back on his family's ranch. He'd just spent the day practicing the same tune on the piano, over and over, until his father came home and begged for Marguerite to let him stop. "*If she does not practice she will never be good.*" "*She's already excellent, what more can she do to prove to you that she knows how to play?*" "*She can play it correctly without me having to correct her or remind her where she is.*" It was the same way most practices went. This time, however, it didn't even relent in his sleep. He found himself paralyzed as his body lurched up and in a daze brought him to the living room. He sat on a couch facing the large grand piano, eyes becoming uncomfortably dry as he stared. He knew better, even asleep, than to touch it and invoke the ire of Marguerite, and yet he could not look away. It was morning when he next seemed to understand what was happening as his father carried him to bed, tucking him in tenderly. This felt similar. His body moved on it's own, slowly, as if unsure of its own purpose. He felt a sickness in his stomach beginning as he approached the bathroom, unable to fully comprehend where he was in relation to his own body. His mouth struggled to move, even. It was familiar; he felt the same nausea bubbling up that he had when he'd collapsed and passed out during his episode a few weeks ago. He'd been given a clean bill of health, but now, he began to worry this was a relapse. His hands clasped to the sides of his sink as he leaned forward, staring back at himself, but not from within his own body. "Oh... Oh, this could work." His own voice, but not him. "I'll be able to do so many nice things..." Vincents hands began to check over his own body, examining every inch of exposed skin that they could find. "Healthy, young... Enough. How wonderful for my companion to be given a rest, as well." He straightened his back, reaching for his toothbrush. It was too much. "*Let go of MY BODY!*" Violet's body paused, looking around. "*Get out! Get out you're not me!*" The body set the toothbrush down, looking into the mirror again. It squinted, then went wide eyed as it seemed to see something deep inside of the glass. "You're awake in there? That's not right." The fleshy puppet seemed to think for a moment, stroking it's chin. "What's the harm with me having some time in the waking world, Violet?" "*Adams?*" Vincent couldn't linger on the fact that he should be in the nose, but instead focused in on trying to move. "*Let me go, you can't have my body!*" He smirked, but seemingly lost control of Vincent's hands as one plunged it's way into the pocket of his sweatpants. The nose was still inside. It was coming back to him; he'd had a dream with him the night before. "*Don't you ever wish that you didn't have to make decisions, Florence? That I could just take care of you forever?*" He'd taken the shape of Tim, and as usual, the two laid together on a large bed that seemed to swallow everything that approached it. "*Imagine it. You laying back and letting me provide for us. Us. Us.*" "*I don't know. I don't want to be powerless.*" "*Yes, you do. You've done it before, and you loved it. You love when I make decisions for you so that the blame lands on someone other than you for once.*" And then their head ended up in his lap again. His fingers, long and taloned, stroked their neck softly and scratched an itch on the back of their scalp. "*Just give in. I'll take care of you for the day and make sure that you wake feeling better than when you've ever gone to sleep.*" The nose dropped against the bathroom carpet, and dug into Vincent's side as he collapsed onto it, heaving for air as he took deep, painful breaths. He grasped the side of the sink again, and tried to pull himself up. He stared at himself, ragged and sullen looking. Every inch of his body hurt as he instead fell to the floor again, and crawled back to his bedroom to change. --- Vincent broke his promise to Adams for the first time, that following week, and left him sequestered in the small metal box that he stored him in. Vincent had found that holding him in a fireproof box allowed for him to carry Adams around without any sort of interfacing with him. He could keep him close to hand without fearing that he would push himself into Vincent's brain at the same time. He just needed the time to think. He wasn't... *mad* per se. The violation had already passed, in his mind. He understood that to a degree he had given up control, even if it had been requested in an underhanded way. If they had sat and talked about him trying something new out, maybe Violet wouldn't have reacted poorly. He simply had little to no warning, and the lack of autonomy had freaked him out.