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nml_mods ([personal profile] nml_mods) wrote in [community profile] nomans_land2023-05-02 05:02 am
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On The First Day

It had been months.

Months of terror, of families ripped apart, refugees racing against the Ark in the sky, against the Plants that had once been their only source of survival on the world and had now been turned against them, raining lightning and death down on them like the hand of a vengeful God. Humanity pushed to the brink, fleeing their homes and communities, waves of refugees fleeing across the sands as more and more towns and cities fell to the reign of destruction that had been biting at their heels every step of the way.

And then, as the last descendants of the survivors of the Big Fall clustered in the city of Octovern, spiilling out into the streets, every available, livable space filled to capacity and beyond, what felt like the final days of humanity began. The sounds of artillery fire filled the air, the sight of the Ark and its grotesque ruler loomed overhead, and in the distant sky high above, the previously-inconceivable reinforcement ships from Earth took up orbit around No Man's Land. Throughout the night, explosions lit up the sky, thundering with deafening reports through the air, and yet the civilians below had settled into a still, terrified, anticipatory silence. They couldn't see, from their perspective, the figures atop the ruins of the Earth's space destroyers that had already fallen to the ground, locked in battle for the future of the people far below. But the sight of Millions Knives high above, terrifying and grotesque with the power of the Plants he had absorbed, was omnipresent, a never-ending threat, the harbinger of doom, biding his time until he could make good on his promise to wipe every last one of them off the face of existence.

And then something had changed.

Electrical currents rippled through the air above the downed ship, carrying screams on the wind. To the people below, Millions Knives' massive form had shifted, writhing, bellowing with unholy rage and pain and despair. And then it begun to unmake itself, shredding, crumbling, tearing itself apart at the seams and floating to the ground in tiny, shining, white particles. Tiny, white feathers drifted on the wind, closer and closer before, one by one, they began to settle to the roofs of the buildings, to the tops of cars and to the streets, and to the heads and faces of the humans staring up from below.

The instant that contact was made between feather and skin, a connection was made; between Human and Plant, between each person standing side by side, minds thrown open in bursts of light and expanding consciousness, and through the doors sprang multitudes of memories spanning hundreds of years. Suffering, laughter, pain, sorrow, joy, enslavement, death, pride, love. The Plants had made the connection to their creators - their keepers - that they had been silently pleading for since their first containment, and with it every man, woman, and child on the surface of the world began to see and feel and hear their stories and their cries for help. They did not want this war, they did not want this destruction. They had seen the promises of vengeance and a paradise for their kind atop the bones of humanity offered by Millions Knives and they had felt the hopes and dreams carried by Vash the Stampede of a kinder, more loving world, and they had made their choice.

Of course, but...what would he do at a time like this?


I wonder if he'll laugh again


I wonder if he'll follow his ideals again.


I see. You all know him as well. That young man with a gentle smile.


Little Red Brother.


Let there be love and peace in this world.


In the chaos that followed, as the bodies of the Plants began tumbling to the ground in a writhing mass and the screams of shock and confusion began to rise from the sea of humanity below, something rippled in the air, a last gasp of those silent voices before the connection was lost.

Help Us. Help him. Please.


This was...different. New. As if reality had taken the distraction caused by the calamity below to shift itself sharply to the left, and then snapped. It started at the core of the mass of angelic bodies as men and women began to rush to their aid, a shockwave in the fabric of creation that rumbled silently in the atoms of the world and ricocheted outward, along the ground, through the air, until it had enveloped the entire planet. Time froze for an instant, and to the eyes of all who had the capacity for sight, that leftward shift became manifest, the world doubling on itself as the ground shook beneath their feet.

Wails of confusion and fear rose into the night sky, and for a brief moment, it felt as if the world were about to unmake itself on the molecular level. But then, just as suddenly as it had come, the distortion snapped back into place with a loud, ear-splitting CRACK, and in the stunned silence that followed, only one thing could be certain; things were not the same as they had been mere moments ago, as if everything and yet nothing at all had changed, all at once.

The world of No Man's Land was as it should be, but all across the surface of the planet, pockets of reality had split open, sending the inhabitants of mirrored existences tumbling through wide, unseen rifts. People and places outside of time and space found themselves staggering to their feet in a world that was both foreign and familiar at the same time, found themselves face to face with their own reflection made flesh, tossed about by the pleas of a race reaching across the fabric of creation for aid in putting a stop to a war that had been fought time and time again, across reality after reality, without fail.


Thus began the new chapter in the history of No Man's Land.



[Wherever your character was, whatever they were doing, when the rifts in reality opened, they will have found themselves rocked by a massive earthquake that lastes a few short seconds before settling with a loud crack, like thunder. While no damage will be left in its wake, the characters themselves will realize that though the planet appears to be the same, it will quickly become evident that they are in an alternate reality of the place they call home. Are they standing in the rubble of a once-destroyed city now remade whole? Is the bar they had been taking refuge in suddenly gone, leaving them tumbling to the sand with nothing but their drink in their hand? And what of the friends that had been standing by their side seconds before? This is where your stories begin.]
dontdeserve: (Default)

then he gets lost because what is cross-verse geography where tf is hopeland

[personal profile] dontdeserve 2023-05-07 02:53 pm (UTC)(link)
The white roar in his mind was threatening to swallow him. He needed.. to fight his way through it, to figure out what was happening, to reach someone he could help, because Wolfwood would need something actual to stop panicking, proof either way. There were times when words were not enough, and in the absence of something to do to resolve the issue, something to know would have to do.

But then Wolfwood spoke, and the words cut through the roar with enough depth that his eyes stung, and he had to swallow and remind himself that he did not deserve to cry, and so he breathed, and walked, for a little bit before he could swallow that up.

"I would not be glad if either of you was dead. But we don't know that he is. We don't know, Wolfwood, and until that is a certainty, I won't grieve him." He would hold on to hope. He had to.

"But however much you are aware of your mistake, you did not choose to get anyone else hurt by it." Other than the other Vash, but he knew that bringing that up would not help. "And you certainly did not, and would not, make him go take your place. However it might make sense in you mind, if it happened, or is happening, you did not make it happen. So you stop that, too." His right arm weint in front of his body, holding on to the left elbow, and he stared up ahead. "If I'm right, and it was the plants that called us here, then he wouldn't be there, anyway. If it was someone else, and that happened, then it'd be their fault. Not yours."

And then Vash would be angry. But not at Wolfwood.
littleblades: (17)

[personal profile] littleblades 2023-05-07 04:50 pm (UTC)(link)
Hmm... [ nai hums along in response as he watches the skies dutifully. still, with nothing to note his attention stays with vash and his rambling stories of people nai can't even start to imagine. he wonders if he'll ever actually meet them, or if they'll simply stay as stories forever. ]

We live a long time, don't we? [ humans who only live for a hundred years or so must seem like a drop in the bucket for their kind. still, for someone like nai who has only been alive for a year, the road ahead seems to stretch on into infinity. ]

Maybe if you live long enough, you could become a myth or legend that humans talk about. I read a book about that. Myths, Legends, and Folk Tales of America... Did you know that was a country?
mercifullyheavy: (Frazzled)

...TBH, that would just make him panic EVEN MORE. l o l oh NO.

[personal profile] mercifullyheavy 2023-05-07 05:30 pm (UTC)(link)
He honestly wasn't sure what he had expected. The words that Vash finally spoke were the exact opposite of what Wolfwood had wanted to hear out of him, but that was also why he should have known that Vash wouldn't say the things he'd hoped he would. It was enough to knock the wind out of his sails, no matter how much he wanted to argue, because hearing him say it only emboldened the soft little voice in his head that sounded just like him. He's right. It's not your fault, Wolfwood. Part of him wished he could make it stay quiet, but the rest of him knew it had rooted itself deep, without his consent, the same way everything else about Vash the Stampede had taken hold in his life, and hoped it never went away.

It didn't make it any easier though, listening to him being so reasonable, making so much damn sense. He felt like an asshole, chided like a child in the softest way possible. It was times like this when Vash's true age became more obvious, the wisdom he had after so much experience, even if it was buried under the demons that dogged his every step and left him running ragged. Made him want to tuck himself inside of that coat he wore that was too large for his frame, hide himself against his side where it was safe. Where, against all odds and better judgment, someone actually cared about him.

He fell into his own long silence as they walked, and he knew he was pouting, even if he would never admit to it. It was a while of walking, wiping his sleeve against his face to hide the tears, before he finally spoke up again, as softly muttered as the sound of their feet shuffling through the sand.

"Look...it's just...all I know how to do, sometimes. I'm just trying to be a realist, Blondie. If I don't get my hopes up, it won't hurt when it all comes crashing down on my head..."
dontdeserve: (Alone)

outside the crater that used to be July (vanilla/canon vash)

[personal profile] dontdeserve 2023-05-07 06:22 pm (UTC)(link)
[ vash was heading towards julai with wolfwood, when voices and images flooded his mind, and then a crack and - instead of the city busy with life, human and plant, singing its own song, of cacophony and harmony, there is silence. And one that seems to have settled over years and years. Other than that, it feels like the same place.

And that is terrifying.

He knows he needs to find the plants that called out, he needs to find out how to go home.

But let him mourn for a little while, for people who were alive and different and kind and rough and happy and sad and everything in-between.
]
Edited 2023-05-07 18:22 (UTC)
love_and_peace: (x2)

[personal profile] love_and_peace 2023-05-07 07:14 pm (UTC)(link)
America?

[ How much longer would he have to live before people stopped believing he was even real? Another fifty years? Another hundred? Long enough for everyone he's met to die, and for those stories to pass into fiction.

That sounds so lonely he can't bear it.
]

That was one of the world powers, right? [ They're making good time, he notes. There's still miles and miles to go, but even as tired -- and hungry -- as he is, he can still run for hours yet. It won't be more than an hour, he figures, before they'll be able to see December. ] I mostly skipped those chapters. [ Why read about politics on a world you'll never see when you can read about animals? ] What kind of myths did they have? Anything good?
love_and_peace: (smile - stepford)

[personal profile] love_and_peace 2023-05-07 08:08 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Who are you? Vash begins to think back, but the other him answers his question -- and more -- before he can even begin to send along that connection. I'm not a puppet, he promises. I'm not a lie, and the way he phrases it rings true. Would Knives have bothered telling a mind reader how he can Vash used to joke as kids? It seems like far too much effort to put into a trap, especially now, but the alternative is just too unbelievable. How could there be another version of himself? How...?

But his whirlwind of questions fades as the other Vash continues to speak. We buried Wolfwood, and even though it's not his memory, not his experience, Vash can feel every shovelful of soil behind those words. He can feel the dirt under his nails, the weight of the stones in his palm. The weight of the corpse in his arms.

His jaw aches from smiling, but he can't make his face relax. It's locked into a rictus grin that just grows wider as the other Vash continues, pouring horrors into Vash's heart and mind. Part of him recoils from the knowledge, but still he sifts through every sentence, every flash of feeling that accompanies those terrible words. He would have buried Wolfwood out behind the kitchen, yes. He would have waited, at the edge of a fresh-dug grave, to make sure of the body within. He'd thought Wolfwood dead before -- he would have made sure. He would have had to be sure.

But he's not sure, can't be sure, because these aren't his memories. He never washed the blood off Wolfwood's face, never searched his pockets for any remaining vials. Never debated whether to save it for Livio, or to see if he could force one more miracle. Never got to say goodbye.

His voice is as stiff as his gestures when he's finally able to reply, tight with the effort of keeping himself under control.
]

I heard them too. [ His sisters. Their sisters, maybe? Maybe. ] The rescue ship had gone, and Knives was... I looked up and he was there. [ He doesn't know how long he sat there in silence beside Wolfwood. It could have been seconds, or hours, he doesn't recall. Time stopped when Wolfwood stopped breathing. The world had died with him, until Knives had dragged it back into focus. ] He attacked, and I put up a wall, and... and I heard the other plants.

[ They'd been calling for help, he sends along their connection, in feelings more than with language. It's the way he usually communicates with their sisters, in images and feelings, rather than with the words they often don't seem to understand. He'd thought it was the plants trapped on the ark, crying out in distress as he responded to Knives's bombardment, crying out in fear as Knives drained their lives away, fuel for the attack on his little brother while Vash had been distracted with grief. And then the attack had ended, and the ark was gone, like it had never been there. The ark, Livio, Wolfwood... all vanished.

How can he be sure Wolfwood is dead without a body?
]

So if... If you're me from the future, then you know where Knives is now. Where can I find him? Is he still in December?

[ His grief has to wait -- Knives must be his priority, if he's not already too late. ]
littleblades: (41)

[personal profile] littleblades 2023-05-07 09:49 pm (UTC)(link)
[ vash can't see, but surely through nai's tone he can hear him rolling his eyes. ] That's no surprise. [ even if there isn't a point to learning about old history, doesn't make it any less fascinating! and now with a new perspective on humans, reading about their strife and politics is even more interesting.

but thankfully the topic isn't on old human politics, but rather on something nai considers one of his favorite interests. it's hard to keep the smile off his face as he talks, picking over some of the topics he remembers reading in the book. among them being the native americans and their creation myths and deities and tricksters prevalent in old religions that stray far from the singular one in the book he held with him now. ]


My favorite parts are about the Wild West, but Vash never liked hearing about that sort of stuff. [ one of the many things they squabbled over. bringing up his name, nai goes quiet. then, ] Do you think... What if something happens when I'm not there with him?

[ his mind whirs with terrible thoughts, kicking up like a dust storm. ]
love_and_peace: (x18)

[personal profile] love_and_peace 2023-05-07 11:09 pm (UTC)(link)
[ It's not his fault history is boring! It's just names and dates and wars and kings, and none of that can compete with videos about things that live in deep water, sorry.

He never much cared for that cowboy stuff either, come to think of it. It was just a lot of shooting and fighting, and only rarely did anybody burst into song in the middle of town. If there had been more singing he might have liked it better!

But before he can argue on behalf of musicals over westerns, Knives gets serious again.
]

Rem is there, isn't she? She won't let anything happen to him. To either of you.
graveresemblance: (pic#16420878)

[personal profile] graveresemblance 2023-05-08 03:16 am (UTC)(link)
[he wasn't ready to argue, but Livio had braced himself for whatever. so he only blinks at her when he isn't challenged.]

You're not making me...and it'd make it harder cause I'd be worried you were gonna get hurt cause of me.

[and he can't take that. he just nods]

I'll be careful. I don't think I'll be checking too long.
graveresemblance: (pic#16391184)

[personal profile] graveresemblance 2023-05-08 03:43 am (UTC)(link)
[that doesn't sound...like a person, no. but just what is it? a trap, sure, of course, but quite unlike any he's ever heard. and not a child's voice to lure out prey, either.

he steps a little closer, and little quieter, and when Livio turns the corner he sees a....bul...b..

uh]


Do you need...water?
climbedup: (carer)

[personal profile] climbedup 2023-05-08 05:05 am (UTC)(link)
[ jasmine is stubborn, but she has had to grow, up, and that means knowing when she is in the wrong and not pushing into being more wrong.

it also means she hears him loud and clear, so she reaches to place her hand lightly on the back of one of his large hands.
]

Not your fault.

[ it must hurt. being here again. and it must hurt thinking of so many things. but she doesn't hesitate, and she doesn't think she's wrong. whatever his part in the destruction around them, he would not have chosen to hurt those here.

he would not have chosen to hurt him.

(is he really gone? nico-nii? jasmine burrows that small voice deep in the back of her mind. not a question she has the right to make him answer.)
]

Let's go. If anyone does need help, the sooner we find them, the better.
graveresemblance: liv (Default)

[personal profile] graveresemblance 2023-05-08 05:34 am (UTC)(link)
[he starts, just a little bit, the tiniest bit, at the gentle touch. it's been a long time since someone didn't do that to hurt him. she's worried about him even preoccupied and worried about the kids.

he nods, and pats her hand in turn, gently, gently]


You're right. We can do this.
aplantandherboy: (del6)

[personal profile] aplantandherboy 2023-05-08 10:09 am (UTC)(link)
[That's a big human. Not as big as some get, but there's something a lot like speculation that crosses her alien features as Livio appears, and then speaks. He looked strong enough to move her bulb, until Tom came back. He would, eventually, return. But that boy was so easily distracted it wasn't even funny anymore.

The small plant in the equally small bulb orients to consider her new arrival openly. He's nearly bigger than her and the bulb combined, that had to translate to power. If it's a trap it's a pretty good one, and there could be people with guns lurking EVERYWHERE. Who wouldn't fall for the bait of a free plant?

Except nobody leaps out to attack.]


No.

[She can make water if she needs it! The keys she has available are considered for a long moment before she begins her new message. That tinny little speaker is her only way to communicate.

She ... she really needs more buttons than this.]


Put down. Sand is hot.

[One of her hands points downward, where her bulb is indeed safely nestled in sand to prevent rolling. Technically she could wait it out, sunset was very soon and the sand tended to cool quickly, but ... but it's uncomfortable noooow.]

You are strong? Help.
celestialcrybaby: (Max Suspicious Black Hair)

Finally getting around to posting my idiot - Also at the December orphanage CW Alcoholic tendencies

[personal profile] celestialcrybaby 2023-05-08 01:16 pm (UTC)(link)
In the grand scheme of things, less than a year was not a lot of time to get over losing someone. He knew this, he'd been through this more times than he could count. It was never easy, and after he'd left Dr. Bond's house and managed to shake the girls - and the small mob of bounty hunters and EFS soldiers - he'd told himself to just give it time. He knew the process, he knew how to take the pain and roll it up into a ball and sit on it until the sharp edges had worn away, until he could unravel it and finally be able to look at it again without cutting himself to shreds.

But this one, he couldn't sit on. He'd been trying, doing his best to at least remember only the happier moments - what few they had been allowed - and to keep putting one foot in front of the other, continuing on for both of them, now that he was gone. But the pain wouldn't let up, the memory of cigarette smoke, the sound of the church bells ringing so loud but not loud enough to disguise the sound of his final exhale of breath, the weight of his body in his arms as he'd reached to lower him into the ground and then been unable to let go until he'd sat with him for hours; all of it plagued his thoughts at every moment he wasn't forcing himself to think of something deliberately not in the shape of the hole his absence left in his chest.

There weren't many, perhaps not any aside from Rem, who's deaths had hit him as strongly as this.

So, less than a year after he had laid him to rest, dressed down in a simple button-down and slacks with his normal gear hidden in his rucksack to avoid detection, Vash had found his way back to December. It was still so empty and desolate, the population only now beginning to fill back into their houses and shops. He'd bought a bottle and a couple of glasses at the bar when he'd checked out of the inn that morning, the same brand and everything, though he knew it had been the drink of choice simply because it had been the only thing available that had any real kick and not because it was particularly a favorite. And he'd walked the few short iles to the orphanage, reaching the empty building around nightfall.

It was strange, seeing it as empty as it was, but he preferred it this way for now. He wouldn't have dared risk the visit if the children had returned, it wasn't worth drawing any danger to them just so he could have one final visit. He knew eventually, they'd come back with Miss Melanie, and that the yard surrounding the home would be filled with the sounds of children again. But tonight, he would give himself a chance to properly sit without the unending panic of knowing the world had been tossed into a chaos only he might be able to stop. He would try to give himself the chance to properly say goodbye, even if part of him felt like he'd waved that right when he'd told Wolfwood not to do just that when he was still alive.

Even knowing why he was there, he couldn't quite form the words - any words - when he first arrived. He busied himself with putting his bag on the ground not far from the grave, taking out the bottle and the glasses, and moved to sit beside the stone that covered it. He cracked the seal on the cap of the bottle, pouring a full glass of the stuff and setting it gently on top of the stone, poured a separate glass for himself. And then he sat, drinking from it (something he hadn't allowed himself to do the day it happened) and just...let himself feel.

The alcohol, honestly, was probably a bad idea. He'd known that when he bought it. But by the time he had finished off the bottle and his tears had finally begun to slow down, the fog in his brain was at least thick enough that he didn't feel like he was locked inside of his own head, inside the horror of what had happened. He was able to sit, one of his knees pressed up against his chest so he could rest his head against it and stare at the stone next to him, and he was able to think about what it meant, who it protected just below the surface, without wanting to scream until his voice was so raw that he could taste the blood.

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. I should have, I know. I'm glad to see you're still safe." The fingertips on his right hand were brushing across the sandy texture of the stone, his nerves alcohol-addled enough that every bump and crack in the surface felt magnified tenfold, but it was soothing, grounding him, his mind latching onto the cold surface and imagining Nicholas inside of it. Closer to the surface than he was, close enough that maybe he would know he was there.

It was a silly thought, but it helped.

"I made sure Livio made it out ok, by the way." Fresh tears clouded his eyes, stinging sharply. "I couldn't-...You...Everything you'd said. They were going to-..." He dug his fingertips harder against the stone, hard enough that the texture hurt, before pressing his palm flat to the surface. "I'm sorry, Wolfwood. I'm sorry I called you a coward. I'm sorry I-...I'm sorry I didn't let you say good bye. I'm sorry I didn't tell you how much I cared."

He buried his face in his knee when the tears overwhelmed him again, rocking unconsciously as he wept. He'd thought he'd gotten through the worst of them, but they wouldn't stop, and it felt like his heart was breaking inside of his chest. It was too much, it hurt too much, every nerve in his body felt like it was burning up and his head felt like it was crammed full of shards of glass, and it hurt!

It was almost enough that, when the voices of his sisters cried out and the ground began to shake underneath him, he almost didn't even notice it. It wasn't until the distinctive, baffled sound of metal grating against rock ground out in front of him that he looked up, eyes wide as he finally registered what was happening, finally noticed that the shaking was coming from outside of his body and had rumbled enough that the sand beneath the Punisher cross had shifted and allowed the thing to begin tilting.

"Oh no, no, don't-...!" He lunged forward, bracing the massive gun on his shoulder and clung to it as he felt the air around him shifting, leaving him feeling distinctly sick to his stomach, and then the sound of thunder clapping inside of his head made him jump as everything suddenly came to a standstill, as if nothing had happened.

The world was still for a long, tense, quiet moment as he tried to process what had just happened, tried to grasp onto the fading memory of the psychic cry for help that was so familiar, and then he finally began to pull himself up, shifting the cross back to its proper standing place with awkward, fumbling fingers.

"'S ok, it's safe! No harm done, look!" He was too drunk for this. Or maybe he wasn't drunk enough? "It's fine, this is fine, I'll just...needa put a base under it or something...! I didn't think to do it before, that's my fault, I'm sorry, I'm-...I..."

The cross settled back to its upright position, he settled, hands still resting against the tattered rags that still clung to the thing after the last few months exposed to the elements, and finally glanced around himself to realize that the place looked...different somehow. Subtly so, but it was there. As if the damage that had erupted from the fight that had claimed Wolfwood's life was fresh.

"What just happened...?"
Edited (OMG stupid fingers hitting the enter key by mistake, wtaf!) 2023-05-08 17:13 (UTC)
climbedup: (Default)

[personal profile] climbedup 2023-05-08 04:30 pm (UTC)(link)
[ of course she worries about him. he's not all right, and she can see it even though she hasn't been around him in years. so it must be bad.

but for now, she gives him a bright smile.
]

Of course.

I think a few of the places we used to hide in as kids might be good to check first. Come on.

[ ... she isn't sure if he remembers or even knew them all back then, he was with them for such a short time. but she remembers. ]
dontdeserve: (Default)

more panicked and pissed, yup. poor nico.

[personal profile] dontdeserve 2023-05-08 06:34 pm (UTC)(link)
Vash hadn't meant it as a chiding, more as a response to what Wolfwood had said, but at the same time. He swallows, pushing away the white noise again because that voice sounding so small was not and never would be right.

He stopped, turning to stand in front of Wolfwood. He couldn't properly smile, not yet, but he was trying, and his eyes, though a little bloodshot, were soft and kind as always.

"I know. I am sorry - but at this point you are hurting yourself, and it - we may have to deal with more than enough of that in the days to come. Save your strength?" And mine, he did not add, because that was selfish, but a part of him knew to be true. Wolfwood hurting himself was hurting Vash, too, it ever would be the case, and... there was already so much pain.

Deep breath. "I am sorry I am taking that away from you right now. It's easier to be focusing on one thing, even if it hurts with every time your thoughts circle through it. But... we have too much work to do."

He really was sorry, too. He wasn't sure he could bare this better than the self-blaming. The silent tears, or the pain in Wolfwood's voice, the attempt to explain and apologize.

Damned if you do, damned if you don't. The words come to him unbidden, and that almost wrings the wryest smile out of his lips.

"We will do what we can. Idealist or realist, that's all we have."
littleblades: (22)

[personal profile] littleblades 2023-05-08 07:22 pm (UTC)(link)
[ unfortunately, nai is already ready to get serious at the drop of a hat.

but that's far from the satisfactory answer nai wants to hear. even with the worst of the dark clouds lifted from his mood for now, his feelings regarding rem are still uncertain at best. he doesn't know how to feel yet. maybe he can trust that she really will look out for vash, but she isn't all-powerful nor her defenses indestructible. anything could happen, and it's that line of destructive, intrusive thoughts that coil around nai's heart unrelentingly. ]


I promised him... [ but saying it out loud feels like excuses. ] What will happen if I don't know how to go back? [ after all, there isn't a gate for him to return through this time, at least not one he's aware of. ]
love_and_peace: (smile - definition of world weary)

[personal profile] love_and_peace 2023-05-08 08:04 pm (UTC)(link)
[ He wants to offer assurances, promises. Of course Knives can go home! Of course Vash will be fine until then! But nothing is certain, is it? If it really was his gate malfunctioning that brought Knives here, then maybe -- maybe -- he can return the same way, but Vash doesn't have the first clue how to go about something like that. And if Vash isn't the reason Knives is here, if he was brought into this future by some other method, then... then he might be trapped here. He might never be able to return.

Vash lays a hand over Knives', at his shoulder.
]

Rem will take care of him, until we can find a way to send you back. And I've got you.

[ At least, until the fighting starts again. What will happen to Knives here, if Vash falls fighting his older self? Where can he go, who will look after him?

But soon as the question occurs to him, he knows the answer.
]

Did I ever tell you about my friend Luida?
doubletimefeel: (Default)

What this funeral needs is sad music.

[personal profile] doubletimefeel 2023-05-08 08:14 pm (UTC)(link)
He hadn't noticed the way the air shook, the way the ground trembled, even the cry for help had been nearly drowned out by the echo of gunfire and tinnitus-like whine in his ears that muted almost all else. Almost. Help us, help him.

He wasn't the sort to help people. Wasn't part of the job, the opposite actually. And where had that gotten him? Shot through the damn lungs, Hopperd's howl of fury a distant and rapidly fading thing, the smells and sounds and sights of a frightened and battered city dimming in time to his own weakening pulse. It really was just his luck, wasn't it? Nothing else to lose, now.. not even his life.

Why not try a different road.

By Midvalley's best guess, the reverberations of whatever the hell that had been were quickly fading to little more than bewildered memory, and the buildings not far away were not at all the close packed town of a few minutes ago. This was not where he'd been shot; the red still soaked his once nice clean white suit, it still burned and stabbed when he inhaled too deeply but he knew the difference between a death wound and one that merely hurt to an inconvenient degree. He hadn't dreamed it. Hadn't dreamed the feathers, Legato's arrival, Beast somehow still being alive .. and he wasn't dreaming being somewhere where he shouldn't be, amongst the empty wilderness between towns. Gingerly he shouldered his saxophone and begun walking. There were voices ahead-- no, just one voice. But voices meant population, which meant maybe some bandages and a good stiff drink, and he had at least a little currency to pay for both; it'd give him time to sort out what the hell that just was, where he was, and more importantly what he was going to do now. His one chance to get rid of that maniac was gone, returning wasn't an option, being hunted very well might be..

These thoughts derail suddenly when he recognizes the somewhat slurred voice ahead, and the outline of a man. Not .. quite right, he's fairly sure the Stampede's hair had not been quite that dark not too long ago, but it's enough to slow his own footsteps to stillness, the crunch of pebbles quieting as he considers very, very carefully what to do nex: in theory one devil was behind him somewhere, and another devil in front of him.

No feathers.

And that looked ... awfully like Chapel's weapon.

Actually that looked awfully like a grave. Midvalley's a bit lost on a lot of things right now but he's pretty certain he hadn't managed to kill that durable bastard, nor would anyone have been able to stuff him in a hole and make a gravestone in the last handful of minutes either. This ... looked like a warzone already, but not the one he'd just been in. Some other fight. Was this the power of the plants? Was he ... teleported, or something?

Vash's question of what just happened doesn't really get an answer, because he doesn't know. But there is a response. "Is that Chapel?" A pause. What had that girl called him? "Wolfwood."

His tone is neutral. There's no attack, his saxophone still slung across is back, his posture as very deliberately casual as he can make it in spite of the sudden spike of adrenaline. Everyone knew Vash the Stampede didn't attack unless attacked first. But who knows what would be considered an 'attack'; if there was one thing Midvalley the Hornfreak is certain of, it's that he's wildly outmatched by these monsters. Even when one is possibly thoroughly pickled.

"Thought maybe this was your doing. Guess not, if you're as confused as I am."
graveresemblance: liv (Default)

[personal profile] graveresemblance 2023-05-08 10:39 pm (UTC)(link)
[he doesn't know if-- if plants had always had this potential to be awake and aware of them, or if this is something new thanks to the recent incident or-- this is all strange. but he's dealt with strange. and for the moment, that doesn't matter-- she needs help.

and if this is a trap, he's got his punishers at his hips. with a nod, he tips his hat at her politely, like you do when you're about to grab someone's home, and wraps his arms around her bulb]


Okay. I can get you a little further down. Or on something?
aplantandherboy: (del7)

[personal profile] aplantandherboy 2023-05-08 10:45 pm (UTC)(link)
[That she isn't completely normal in this respect isn't something that's actually occurred to her yet. Isn't that how it is everywhere? You have a nice town, you have a nice population, plants decide to move in?]

Yes!

[..Wait, that was an either-or not a yes/no question. She hesitates a moment, cursing a bit more the clumsiness of mobile communication interfaces, and tries again, several sets of tiny wings fluttering briefly in agitation. Way to go, not paying attention and sounding vapid...]

Not on sand. Rocks are okay. Town is okay. Thank you.

[And if he thinks he can move her bulb then he really IS strong enough, which means she's going to have to think of a good thank you.

Or a good bribe. How does one normally convince a human to stick around?]
graveresemblance: liv (Default)

[personal profile] graveresemblance 2023-05-08 11:36 pm (UTC)(link)
[her smile is bright, bright enough to pull a tiny, uncertain one out of him, but a smile all the same.]

I think back then I was too tall to fit in some hiding places, too. You'll have to remind me.
graveresemblance: liv (Default)

[personal profile] graveresemblance 2023-05-08 11:38 pm (UTC)(link)
Town might be a bit far, but I think I can figure something out.

[he doesn't lift her right away, at least not much, just getting a feel for how heavy this'll be. he can do it-- she isn't too heavy. not like the bigger plants he's seen. so after a tiny grunt, he does lift her, bulb and all, and staggers around until he finds the perfect cropping of rubble to set her around-- a few rocks, but no hot sand.

gently, gently, he sets her down, keeping on hand braced on the glass of the bulb while he shifts some rubble around her more securely]


Whew! How's that?
littleblades: (46)

[personal profile] littleblades 2023-05-09 01:51 am (UTC)(link)
[ vash's hand envelops nai's so easily and even through the skin tight fabric covering his hands, the weight of it is comforting. ]

Not yet, but I have a feeling you're going to.

[ did vash really expect him to remember every person he mentions through all the stories he tells? of course, nai will because he prides himself on his memory skills, but still! ]
littleblades: (46)

december, an empty bar

[personal profile] littleblades 2023-05-09 02:43 am (UTC)(link)
[ the sounds of a piano ring out through the quiet streets surrounding a just-about abandoned bar with a broken swing door.

inside sits nai at an old piano that has certainly seen better days, his fingers moving across the keys as he plays. he still isn't tall enough to reach the pedals, the tips of his boots just barely scraping the scuffed floorboards. as he plays, his face scrunches in irritation when he hits an untuned key, but he keeps at it until the song is finished. it's expected from a piano that had been covered in dust and debris until nai had discovered it during his explorations.

but out-of-tune keys or not, when nai finishes the song he straightens with a huff before starting all over again. as a perfectionist, he'd play this over and over until his fingers bruise and bleed. without vash here beside him, he'd learn to play both sides of the duet meant for them alone. ]

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