He waited for Vash to stand and follow after, taking one last look around the bar and back at the seat Nico had been sitting at before sighing and turning to walk out the door. Even in that short amount of time since the earthquake had hit, the chaos that had started in the bar had obviously spread. Or perhaps more accurately had started everywhere and was now simply amplifying itself through the people in the streets.
All around them, the sounds of voices calling out names, confused rumblings as people tried to make sense of things, and a general undercurrent of fear had begun. And oh, if this didn't feel familiar, he didn't know what did. It was like December all over again, like the panic in Augusta four years ago, and standing in the middle of it made the tension in his shoulders and the rocks in his gut worse. Things had almost been quiet here for the past two years, compared to the warzone he'd left behind back home.
"Hey, Nico! Asshole! Getcher ass back here, I ain't jokin' around!" The snarl in his voice as it joined those around them was hopefully enough to cover the way it cracked from everyone else, but Wolfwood still heard it all the same. He cursed under his breath, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a glass tube, filled not with the blue drug that had almost taken his life but with a cigar. He was adept enough at carrying the cross on his back that he had no trouble balancing it across his shoulder, freeing both of his hands so that he could uncork the tube and pull the cigar free, cut the head off of it, bring it to his lips and light it.
He took a heavy drag of it, holding the smoke in his lungs as he let his eyes scan the crowd around them, and did his best to clench his fingers around the stogie until they stopped shaking. Not that it helped very much, and he felt enough of a spike of irritation at himself that, when he had still received no replying shout from a twin of his own voice and still had not seen an uncomfortably-familiar shock of unruly black hair, he flung the empty cigar tube against a nearby wall before finally letting the breath out of his lungs.
At least the Pop-smash of the glass on the bricks was satisfying. Petty, but satisfying. Somewhat.
"You don't get back here, I'm takin' your smokes! Yer gonna make Spikey sad, now C'mere!!"
Because hiding behind Vash's soft heart was easier than admitting to his own fears, the guilt he felt at the little voice in the back of his head telling him it should have been him missing, the universe had miscorrected its mistake, regardless of the fact that the hubbub around them should have been more than enough to tell him that it wasn't an isolated incident.
Meanwhile, they can see exactly what's happening in each other and just leave it unsaid. USUALLY.
All around them, the sounds of voices calling out names, confused rumblings as people tried to make sense of things, and a general undercurrent of fear had begun. And oh, if this didn't feel familiar, he didn't know what did. It was like December all over again, like the panic in Augusta four years ago, and standing in the middle of it made the tension in his shoulders and the rocks in his gut worse. Things had almost been quiet here for the past two years, compared to the warzone he'd left behind back home.
"Hey, Nico! Asshole! Getcher ass back here, I ain't jokin' around!" The snarl in his voice as it joined those around them was hopefully enough to cover the way it cracked from everyone else, but Wolfwood still heard it all the same. He cursed under his breath, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a glass tube, filled not with the blue drug that had almost taken his life but with a cigar. He was adept enough at carrying the cross on his back that he had no trouble balancing it across his shoulder, freeing both of his hands so that he could uncork the tube and pull the cigar free, cut the head off of it, bring it to his lips and light it.
He took a heavy drag of it, holding the smoke in his lungs as he let his eyes scan the crowd around them, and did his best to clench his fingers around the stogie until they stopped shaking. Not that it helped very much, and he felt enough of a spike of irritation at himself that, when he had still received no replying shout from a twin of his own voice and still had not seen an uncomfortably-familiar shock of unruly black hair, he flung the empty cigar tube against a nearby wall before finally letting the breath out of his lungs.
At least the Pop-smash of the glass on the bricks was satisfying. Petty, but satisfying. Somewhat.
"You don't get back here, I'm takin' your smokes! Yer gonna make Spikey sad, now C'mere!!"
Because hiding behind Vash's soft heart was easier than admitting to his own fears, the guilt he felt at the little voice in the back of his head telling him it should have been him missing, the universe had miscorrected its mistake, regardless of the fact that the hubbub around them should have been more than enough to tell him that it wasn't an isolated incident.