nml_mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nml_mods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
nomans_land2023-05-02 05:02 am
nml_mods) wrote in nomans_land2023-05-02 05:02 am
Entry tags:
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.
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.
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.]
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.
[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.]
+1 More El Woowoo, Spooky Flavored!
So imagine his surprise when one day, as they were walking the long road to Home, they both found themselves shocked by the sound of voices, telepathic voices that even Wolfwood could hear, and the ground shaking in such a way that both of them stumbled in tandem. It was still instinct, to reach out to catch himself as he fall, his voice shouting out in surprise, and for a moment, the world almost seemed to move in slow motion as he watched Vash in front of him, jolting even as he fell, twisting his body and looking back in surprise.
Looking at him.
He shouted again, this time in confused shock as he saw Vash's eyes go as wide as saucers, heard his name ringing out in recognition at the same time he felt his hand impact something solid. Fabric over metal, a bracket where prosthetic was socketed firmly into bone, warmth of skin through a coat and from the suns beating down on his shoulders. He shouted out Vash's name as they collided, tumbling to the ground, and then all was still.
He lay face down in the sand for, honestly, he wasn't sure how long, before finally realizing that something had changed, something huge. And though he had made physical contact with the man, the first contact he'd had with anything living in actual decades...it hadn't lasted. He should have been under Nicholas. Or, more accurately if the world had stopped being fucking odd, should have been laying through Nicholas, and he'd accidentally shifted through people enough times in the past to know how uncomfortable it was if they were merely human. The few times it had happened with Vash, it had been like his entire, non-existent body had been elecrocuted, and he had worked very hard to be mindful of where they stood in relation to one another ever since.
But none of that was happening now. He groaned, lifting his head and glancing up at the desert around him, and despite knowing how futile it was normally, he couldn't help calling out when he found himself alone.
"...Vash? Needle-Noggin? Come on, Spikey, where'd you go?" Ahh, shit. He rolled to his feet, turning in place and looking all around him, finding no sign of him anywhere. "Damnit! Your mom's gonna tan my hide if I lose you, come on! How in the Hell did you disappear this quickly???"
it's time for woowoo II: son of woo
So why fight it?
There was one cigarette left in his pack, one crumpled soldier that he'd been saving for more than a day. His mouth was so dry he could barely speak, and the cigarette would just make the thirst worse, but fuck it. For his crimes, this was exactly the ending he deserved -- lost, out in the middle of the wastelands, where all his strength and speed couldn't do a goddamn thing to keep him alive. Where, even if he'd still had a gun, the only person to shoot was himself.
Getting himself up to the top of the ridge took more effort than it should have, and he was panting by the time he dropped onto a rocky seat overlooking the valley below. The hike was worth it, though -- he'd never been much for the finer things in life, but even the most cynical asshole had to admit that the sunssets in this place were fucking glorious. It made a man almost believe in God.
Almost.
"Because if you are real, then you've got a fuck of a lot to answer for!" He tucked the cigarette between his lips and leaned back, flipping off the sky. He'd find his lighter in a moment -- for now, everything was quiet, the sky above red like blood, or the broken fashion sense of a too-trusting idiot, and with any luck, he could doze off here and not ever have to wake up again.
"You should've stopped me."
Woowito!
"What in the actual Hell?" He watched the man sit, moping, putting a cigarette between his lips and not even bothering to light it. Was he hallucinating? Could spirits do that? He hadn't the foggiest idea what was going on, couldn't remember ever going through these motions, so it couldn't be a memory, could it?
At the very least, it was a little late for his life to be flashing before his eyes. Or maybe too early? Honestly, the Eye of Michael may have forced its members through seminary, but they hadn't really been all that great at teaching the bits that actually mattered, and it had been literal decades, so he didn't hardly remember, anymore. He doubted cults really knew what the Hell they were talking about, anyway. Yay for him.
"Who shoulda stopped you from doin' what now?" Not that there wasn't an infinite list of people and situations he could think up, but maybe knowing which thing exactly this image of himself meant would explain things. He stepped in front of him, crouching down and staring at him, and realized that up close, when he really looked, the details really began to stick out.
"How old are you? I mean like...yeah, whatever, who can even tell with me, but really, now. And where's the Punisher? You leave it in Angelina or something? Who even taught you how to dress???" Because really, now! He might be a damn terrible priest and an assassin, but he still had some self-respect! "At least tuck in your damn shirt!"
He dimly wondered if there was even any substance to the man in front of him or if it was just one big, incorporeal figment of his imagination. Only one way to find out.
He reached out and focused his energy into his fingertips for just long enough to flick at the cigarette hanging out of the other Wolfwood's mouth.
no subject
"Well fuck you too!"
Half a cigarette, no food, no water. Wolfwood fished in his pocket for his lighter, still muttering profanity and complaints under his breath.
"It was just another job, so how come this one got me all messed up? What made him so different? Just another idiot, too stupid to... where's that damn lighter? Too stupid to know what was good for him. Too stupid to see what he was runnin' into."
He searched every pocket three times before he finally had to accept that the lighter wasn't there anymore. Because of fucking course it wasn't. With a snarl, he throw the half cigarette as far as he could.
"Too stupid to see what I was."
no subject
A bit.
Which made him manifest the figment of a lit cigarette in his fingers, waving it in front of the other's face. He knew from experience that something about indulging the motions of the old habit made the scent of them come to people. He wasn't quite sure why, but it did. Maybe it would help a bit? It wouldn't have the nicotine, but hopefully the scent-memory of burning tobacco could take the edge off.
"You know, he's not really as stupid as you think. He's just a stubborn old asshole. You should give 'im more credit, really. Honestly, he probably knew exactly what we were up to from the word 'go,' he's just too forgiving to ever call us on it. Not that that's gonna help you feel any better about it, is it?"
Because no, really, he knew what living these doubts had been like, remembered vividly how much he'd beaten himself up inside over all of this. Even if he didn't remember this moment in time, he remembered the lingering anger, the self-loathing. Truth be told, there were times it still lingered, though a few decades with no one to talk to but yourself, endless free time to look back on your life, and not having to actually deal with the continued struggles of actually being alive had given him a chance to...maybe not forgive himself, but at least feel as if that hate had been blunted, the sharp edges rounded until it was so much easier to deal with than it once had been.
"Give 'im some time. You'll get used to his stupid bullshit. It's...kind of comforting, now, if I'm being honest."
no subject
"I'm hallucinatin' cigarettes now. Okay. That's fuckin' great."
Maybe next he could hallucinate a beer and a burger, huh? Or, fuck, why think small? Why not hallucinate Stampede back to life, stupid heavy coat, dumb vacant grin, too-short pants and all? He stared far at a far pile of stone, but it remained a stone.
Fine.
"I don't want to feel bad about this." Chewing on his thumbnail, he dropped back down onto his rock, kicking up a cloud of sand. "I didn't have a choice! Chapel says jump and I jump, I don't get to say no! So how come I feel like such shit about it?! I didn't even feel this bad when Livio...!" The name caught in his throat, and to his shame, Wolfwood felt his eyes burning. "Shit." He didn't cry -- tears were for babies, and bratty little kids faking it to make you feel bad for them -- and he scrubbed at his eyes hard with the back of his hand to make sure things stayed that way.
Livio. Speaking of idiots who didn't know what was good for them... He didn't have a gun, but that handful of rocks at his feet would do in a pinch. Flung hard enough a a nearby boulder, it wasn't nearly as satisfying as shooting something until it exploded, but he'd always been the kind of guy who could make do.
"He was just a kid." The next stone knocked a good sized chip off the boulder, revealing the bright iron-rich core. It looked like blood, which suited his mood just fine. "How could you let them take him he was just a fucking kid?!"
no subject
Had something happened to Livio, for this Nicholas? Livio, as far as he could even tell in the in-between, was...well, he supposed not fine. He had passed on a few years ago. Vash - and therefore Nicholas - had been there when it happened, at his room in the orphanage where he'd taken over after Melanie had passed on. The drugs had aged him so much more quickly than he should have, and he'd gone in his sleep, looking as if he were in his 90's, instead of in his 40's. Not unlike what had happened to Chapel's body all those years ago, but a much kinder end. And the moment he'd awoken in the in-between, Nicholas had been there to greet him. It...it had been good. Had helped heal some of the hurts he'd been carrying for so long. He'd spent time with them, watching over Vash for a little while with him, and then finally had gone into the light, promising Nick he would wait for the two of them, and that thought was, to be honest, one of the things that made him want to hope the most that he wasn't damned.
But this man talked as if Livio had already died, and that wasn't right, it couldn't have been right. Had he even known the Eye had found Livio when he was this young??? What even was going on, right now?
He watched back and forth as he flung rocks at the boulder with enough strength to break chips off and send them flying, listened to him hurting over what they'd done to one of the only people who'd been as important as family to him. No. This wasn't right. He knew he was still partly to blame for what had happened to him, he wouldn't ever fully forgive himself for that, but that didn't mean this man should carry this burden on his own shoulders.
He stood, bending over to pick up one of the rocks he'd thrown and, to get his attention, knocked it gently against the boulder three times. Then he tossed it gently back towards him so that it landed not far from his feet and walked back, crouching down and putting his fingers back on top of it, and focused on pushing it through the sand.
L I V I O I S O K
When he looked back up at him, tears were rolling down his face, and if he'd been visible, he wouldn't even seem to have noticed it was happening. It was more, though, that he'd grown used to it, to the way strong emotions sometimes made it happen. He didn't have anyone to hide the emotions from, not anymore, and he didn't need to breath. There were no sobbing, hiccupping cries, just a quiet acceptance as he let the emotions roll through him.
no subject
“Livio?”
Of all the ghosts he thought he’d meet here! Also, shit, if he’d needed proof he was dead -- or near enough -- here it was, with him talking with a goddamn ghost. Wolfwood reached out one shaking hand, and traced the L of Livio, just like he used to show the living Livio how to make his letters, so many years ago.
“Why did you follow me?” He’d always been more comfortable with anger than with sorrow, and so the question came out as a furious snarl, but the tears welling up in his eyes made his tone a liar. “How stupid did you have to be to go with those fucking cultists on your own? Didn’t I teach you anything?”
An abrupt slap of his hand wiped out the mocking OK, and Wolfwood scribbled the truth beneath: D E A D.
“You’re not okay, idiot. That blue haired asshole shot you in the head. You’re dead.” And while dead might be preferable to being in the Eye’s employ -- a thought Wolfwood had certainly had more than once -- it was still a long ways from okay. “I couldn’t keep you safe. You’re dead.”
no subject
But then he kept talking, dashed away the O K and spelled out D E A D, and while he wasn't technically wrong, he was off by a few years if he was still alive, and the fact that he thought Nicholas was Livio made him groan and roll his eyes so hard that his head tilted up towards the sky.
"Aaaaaah, chingao! This is why I don't interact!" Why...did he feel like he'd been saying that a lot today?
But fine. Fine. He'd already done the damage, he might as well rip the band-aid off. At least this way, maybe they could figure out why they were both here. He drew in a deep, unneeded breath, before focusing all of his energy on projecting his voice loud and clear.
"I'm not Livio! And Legato didn't shoot him in the head! Vash made sure of that! That wouldn't have killed him, anyway!"
That done, he harumphed, flopping back into the sand and crossing his arms to sulk for a few seconds before sighing and reaching back over, knocking the D E A D out of the sand as best he could (lots of small grains were more annoying than a single large rock) and then rewriting the O and the K.
He even added a little >:C next to it, for punctuation. He'd probably been spending too much time following Vash around, if he was doodling goofy little faces on his written messages, now.
no subject
After several long seconds of staring dumbly at the new OK that wrote itself out in the sand, his mouth made the choice for him. "Who th'fuck are you?!" What he wouldn't give for his gun! Or a crucifix, even... or was that just for vampires? How did you fight off a ghost, anyway? "If this is some kind of joke I'm gonna rip your fucking head off and kickball it all the way to December!"
There. That'll show 'em!
no subject
So hey. Fair play to the pipsqueak. Though he would give him credit for having the balls to bluster like that when he was obviously shitting his metaphorical pants.
Still, that got a sigh out of him again, because he really didn't want it to have to go that far. He should have walked away when he found himself staring at his own dumb mug having a temper tantrum in the middle of the desert.
"Well...I guess since you asked so nicely." It took a moment, and when the image of him finally coalesced into view, it was like looking at him through a mirage in the distance, only fainter. He gave a resigned little smirk and a sarcastic wave of his hand from where his elbow was resting on one knee. When he spoke again, the energy required to both speak and manifest himself made his voice softer, like he were speaking from a distance. "Would it be in poor taste if I said I'm dead serious? And you don't need to do any kicking, my head's already in December with the rest of me."
His focus was distracted for a moment, though, a thoughtful look crossing his face, and he started to waver out of focus, his voice trembling on the currents of air.
"I mean...it should be...last time I saw it." Which was, admittedly, decades ago, when he'd stood by, feeling numb and hollow as he watched Vash burying his body, grieving over him for what precious little time he had before the morning. "I don't know what it means that you're here, though. You'll have to kick your own head to be sure, I guess."
no subject
What could he do but laugh? A little too loud, and definitely unhinged, and Wolfwood immediately slapped his hands both over his mouth to stop any more of that crazy noise from happening. Because this was crazy. It was impossible.
Damned if he was going to avoid the city of December for the rest of his life, though. Assuming he survived wherever this was.
“This isn’t possible.” The ghost didn’t move -- it didn’t attack, or spit green snot or anything, so Wolfwood scrambled his courage together and cautiously hauled himself to his feet, a pebble secreted in his hand. “I’m seeing things.” He looked around, as though expecting his own body to appear in the sand nearby. “I’m dyin’ up here from no water for too long, and I’m seein’ things, that’s the only explanation.”
Quick as anything, he flicked the pebble right at the ghost, aimed for center mass. Was it solid after all?
no subject
"Sorry. Wish I could say you were right." Well, wait. Maybe not, hold on. His brow furrowed, though less for the pebble that whizzed right through his chest and skipped across the sand behind him, and more for what he'd said. "Why haven't you be drinking water? You're not immortal!" Well...obviously.
He wanted to say more, but the talking and being visible was draining, so he let out a soft huff and let the vision of him fade. It would take a while still for him to rest enough to feel back to his full strength, but he was too invested now, to let the conversation end just yet. At the very least, without stretching himself too thin, his voice was a bit stronger when he spoke up again.
"Why are you even out here to begin with? I don't remember some of the things you were prattling on about."
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
backtracking a little... meeting at Rem's?
It meant that Rem was all right, didn't it? Probably?
Yes, Good, I was actually going to boop about when this would happen. XD
Which meant he was sitting, quietly, giving Rem her space as he sat outside of the little house she'd been building up for herself, waiting for Vash to come back. Which also meant that the moment he came around the bend, Nicholas' attention snapped up, surprised at the sight of the man as he approached.
"Who the f-..." Wait. No. Oh.
He supposed that made sense, in a weird sort of way. It wasn't the man he had been expecting at all; younger, so much younger, his hair still bright as the suns on top and not quite as dark as the black he remembered on his head when he'd begun to go dark. His clothes were...well, not strange, they actually looked almost normal, and that was what made them strange on Vash. But they looked...comfortable, at least.
It was with a readiness born of pure habit that he stood, his hands slipping into his pockets as he walked over to stand near his shoulder, looking him up and down, taking in all the little differences and then smiling gently at all the little ways he could see where they lined up. His face seemed rounder, softer, but he still had those big, expressive eyes and that sweet little beauty mark under his eye, still seemed content to hide behind those sunglasses, but they were less reflective, less a wall between him and the world. Still missing that arm, but this one was unabashedly open about what it was, strange compared to what he was used to, looking like stripped bones, delicate, but also strangely beautiful in the way it shone like a green-black bottle in the sunlight. Still a lanky, gangly thing that, if he really looked, seemed to definitely be hiding a much sturdier, broader figure under that coat than one would immediately suspect.
And still carrying a deep, yawning sadness behind those eyes. It was always in the eyes.
He gave a small, grunted imitation of a chuckle, his eyebrows lifting up into his hairline.
"Well. That's interesting. Still a looker, though, that definitely hasn't changed. Not used to seein' you so young, though, I don't think you looked that young even when I first met you! Not a grey hair in sight! Almost makes me feel like an old man, people'd think I was robbin' the cradle or somethin'!"
Not that they'd ever even talked about themselves in that particular sense. But he'd had a damn long time to get over the need to repress his feelings over the man. It wasn't as if there were anyone else there to hear him, and it wasn't as if Wolfwood being willing to admit what he felt for him was going to cause him any more pain than simply having known him already had.
He couldn't help but laugh to himself at the thought, of people seeing that baby-faced old man, thinking he was some kid fresh off the farm, and then looking at Nicholas and thinking he was the creepy old man. At the very least, any implications of the sort would have absolutely sent Vash into a sputtering, stuttering flail.
listen. i've kept this open in a tab for DAYS
"Is... anyone here...?"
He focused a little more, but there he could feel Rem, and she seemed ... all right. Solid, as much as he could tell, not like this.
Oh hey, it's like me watching everyone else's threads! XD
"Uh, yeah, sorry if I made 'er upset earlier, Blondie. That one's on me. Hopefully she's settled enough that it's not too much for you, now."
And...hopefully she remembered that he didn't want his presence being outed. Remembered how soft her boy was, how easy it was for him to break over the smallest upset. This wasn't his Vash, no, but...well, she'd mentioned the other Nick, so they had already met, wherever his man came from. If he was as tender-hearted as the Vash was back home, just having met him once would be enough that finding out he was a dead man would upset him.
... gasp, but email notifications...
"I guess I'll need to ask Rem if something strange's happened. Not that there are many things that aren't strange for her..."
He shouldered the duffel bag more firmly and started back towards his destination. There was a glint that caught his eye, and he shook his head fondly. "I remember when she was the one picking up after us."
And he reached to take up the device to return it to its owner.
lol yeaah, part of why I've been taking a while to "get up" every day, I read them all there. XD
The device!
"Ah, SHIT!" He lunged after him, reaching out to smack the thing out of his hand before he could read what had been typed out on it. He had forgotten, however, that the typing program had been switched out for that damned green screen view before it had been abandoned, and he saw himself in it the instant his hand made contact with it, running up from over Vash's shoulder, his arm outstretched and a silent shout on his face.
He was careless about where he stepped in his haste to knock the thing away, which only made the situation worse. While the hand that reached around him to connect with the device was solid enough for the short enough amount of time it took to make contact, the rest of him was incorporeal and went stumbling through Vash's body in the same instant, and it burned. The scream he gave as his frame locked up and stumbled to the ground afterward should have gone unheard, which was a saving grace, but that didn't mean he wasn't left twitching, clutching the side of the crate Rem had been sitting on as he tried to calm every inch of what made up what he had left of his being.
kek I portion them out for myself.
"... Wolfwood?" Deep breath. It didn't look like Wolfwood but it also looked more like Wolfwood than any other person he knew.
"Are you all right? ... sorry, stupid question. Wh--" What happened? also stupid.
Vash bent down to pick up the device, but carefully set it screen down, placing his palms over it lightly, the real and the prosthetic one.
"You don't want me to look at that. All right."
I eventually have to do that just to go to bed. lol STOP READING, TIME FOR SLEEPS!
He'd really wanted to avoid this, especially after the way Rem had reacted. He'd spent...untold numbers of years avoiding this conversation, and now...?
"Fuck. Fine. Fine, let's get this over with."
He sighed, his head hanging low as he reached up to rub at the spot between his eyebrows.
It's fine, Blondie. I'm fine. Doesn't matter, now, anyway. Just...didn't wanna upset you. Gave your mom a scare, earlier, and I didn't want a repeat.
Especially not when he'd realized he wasn't his Vash. Not the same man, there was no sense in worrying him, he probably would have just left in a little while, anyway. But Vash was smart. He wouldn't have just written off what had just happened as his imagination, even if Wolfwood had tried to go quiet and leave without explaining, and he knew it would worry him. And a worried Vash tended to be a reckless Vash. He'd probably would have gotten the story out of Rem later, and who knew what he would do, then?
sleep is sadly important
That meant that Wolfwood was.
Oh.
For a moment, Vash sort of... deflated, the conclusion that he couldn't not reach taking the wind out of his mills. Was... was that how Wolfwood - the live one - felt about him? The sudden, sinking emptiness made up of what he had known was certain mortality and the absolute wish that--
But then he squared his shoulders, managing a smile.
"She's had to deal with a lot of things in a short time. This is not a world she's known at all! So a lot of things can be a bit much. I'm fine! If you're this used to it all, it's been a while for you, hasn't it?" Beat. Then he tapped the device. "Does this make it easier to communicate?" He could feel the vestiges of pain, happily receding, and the effort, the pulling oneself together to do one thing, and one thing more. He... didn't need questions answered, if it was at the cost of energy that he didn't know how this Wolfwood would recover.
It is but it's also laaame! It's too bad not having it makes us go nutty, booo!
He even began to, letting the sound of him speaking wash over him, knowing that he was finally being heard, that he was speaking to him. It sent a sharp, painful surge of so much joy through him that he gave a small, gasped sob, and his eyes snapped open, his hand reaching up to wipe away the tears that ran down his face. That...that was too much. Too much.
When he spoke again, the shape of it sounded as if he were smiling. But it was also sad.
Yeah. 'S been a while. But it's alright. 'S not so bad. It's...peaceful. He knew that Vash would be worried, and if nothing else came of the conversation, he hoped that he could at least reassure him of that much. If the man had to know he was dead, that he lingered after his death, then he wanted to make sure he knew that he wasn't suffering. Things're different, though, yeah. I'm not sure how I got here, to be honest. I was...somewhere else. Another you. I'm watchin' out for 'im, so he...we were walkin' in the desert, on the way to...probably Home. I never let 'im know I'm there, don't want to upset 'im, so I'm never quite sure, but...after you've traveled a road enough times, you start to recognize where you are, even if you aren't told...
Anyway, somethin' happened, thought it was just an earthquake, but it made even me fall. That doesn't happen. An' when I stood back up, he was gone, an' I was...wherever this is. Well, not directly here. I wandered for a while, then I found your mom's little joint, here. She said you'd be comin' back soon, and...I thought I'd found 'im again, but you're not him, obviously. No offense'r nothin'.
He looked down at the device for a few seconds, thinking. It had certainly been physically easier than talking, yes, but...well, it was a lot easier for his words to get jumbled when he was typing them, and he'd already seen how spectacularly that had gone the last time.
I'm not great with typin' on it. It's easy enough to press the buttons, sure, easier than talkin', but...I never did get used to usin' a typewriter. It's kinda strange, words just come out different when you're talkin' than when you're typin' them out. 'S how I scared your mom, I forgot important bits I wouldn't have if I'd just been talking.
Didn't exactly help that I thought she was the Rem where I'm from. She would've known who I was when I tried talkin' to 'er. We met before. Your mom obviously didn't, so she wasn' ready to suddenly find herself...literally dealin' with... He gestured at himself, even if Vash couldn't see him. This. People don't like bein' hit in the face with an existential crisis.
GAAAH
"I'm glad that it's peaceful. I think... all in all, you're among the people who need peace the most. Not that there are many in this world that don't need it..."
A soft sigh.
"The... the Rem you knew before. She was..." 'All right' was probably not the right way to ask, but it was closest. Instead, he closed his eyes. "Not heartbroken?" He always... wondered. What she would know, and how it would affect her.
no subject
The thought that he was one of the people who deserved a peaceful existence the most was a thought that was...strangely detached from himself when he considered it. It had simply been his existence for so long, and time had given him the mercy of letting so many of the pains of his life dull into dim memory that it no longer held any sort of emotional or logical connection to him, anymore. But he didn't think that would be very comforting to Vash. This wasn't an easy conversation, in more ways than one. He didn't need have to have the memory of what it actually felt like, to feel the existential dread and anxiety that had been so normal for the living, when the topic of death came up, to know that this was heavy, for Vash maybe more than anyone else he could think of.
So he was quiet for longer than he maybe would have meant to be, chewing on his thoughts, even after the question about Rem came up. And didn't that make it even more complicated, in the end? Maybe it was easier to answer, though, in some strange way. His smile turned fond but sad when he thought back to her, to those short, strange months in the beginning, before she'd moved on.]
Your mom was...proud. [Because he knew what he was asking, even if it was too much for him to articulate properly. The smile faded a little, though, the sadness settling more firmly. He wouldn't lie. Vash deserved better than that. But he took a moment to carefully consider how he continued.] She loved you so much. But...she was a little sad, knowing what you put yourself through. What you felt you had to do. She just wanted you to be happy.
[Maybe that was why she'd latched onto Nicholas so quickly, when he'd died. She had made no attempts at hiding the fact that she was treating him like someone special, talking about how important he was to her son, how proud she was of Wolfwood because of the man she said she'd seen him become as she followed Vash along, the same way Wolfwood was, now. Maybe taking care of him, making the transition from one realm to the next one had been her way of trying to take care of what was important to her son, the only way she'd felt she could show how much she loved him when she was gone. He hadn't known her long enough to really ask.]
Things where I'm from were...real bad for a while. That's why I'm here, now. I almost made it through to the end, but...it just wasn't in the cards for me, I guess, and when I came to on this side, after-...she was there. She'd been followin' you around for as long as people'd been on this rock, watchin' over you. Said she wanted to be here, waiting for you when it was your time, and to see things through to the end. But then...it wasn't long after I...what happened to me...that everything finally came to a head, and...a few months after that, we found...there was someone who joined us on this side that she knew needed her, too.
[He wouldn't say it was the man's brother. He didn't know anything about what this Vash's life was like, what he'd been through. He could make assumptions, but for all he knew, they could be completely wrong. So he would do what he could to spare him the shock of a miscommunication about something he didn't even need to worry about, especially not after he'd made that mistake with Rem.]
She said it would make you happy, if I was the one to meet you when it was your turn. Asked me to tell you she loved you, and she would be waiting for you on the other side of the light. They're in Heaven, now. She's where she belongs.
[His voice was soft, a gentle happiness in his tone that might have sounded a bit strange, from the perspective of someone who was still living. He remembered how the concept of passing over had been frightening, before, that promises of Heaven or Paradise always spoken of with an air of grim truth, people telling themselves the thought made them happy as a way to deal with the horror of what was unknown and the grief of losing someone to that scary abyss. It was different, on this side. Whatever existed on the other side of that light, whether there was some all-knowing creator waiting, some terrifying judgment that would see some of them sent to an eternal reward and the rest to an endless torment, it didn't cause the same dread. People were waiting for them, there. He'd watched them go, promises had been made to see each other again. It wasn't some unknowable thing shrouded in a fear that at the end, it may not even have been real at all. There wasn't anything to fear from that. He knew when the day came that he took Vash Home to his mom and his brother, even if he couldn't be with them wherever they were, it was going to be a good day. A wonderful, joyful end to a long, sad story. Vash deserved that much, he had no worries about where he was going, and Wolfwood had stopped worrying about what his own eventual fate would be, just knowing that the man he cared so much about would finally get to have a happy ending after carrying so much pain all those years.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)