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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.]
no subject
But he did steady himself. ]
I have to go. And advice is also help.
[ Then he took a soft breath, and reached again. ]
Will you at last talk with me? Please? What is your name? I am Vash.
no subject
A nearby sand dune is broken apart like it's nothing, revealing a bulk of mangled wings coiled together at the size of a truck. Gleaming eyes underneath the feathers focus on Vash, and either it cannot sense the spirit with him or doesn't care. Instead it pulls itself over the sand, almost rolling the rest of the way. It's dragging blood and viscera behind it, guts and mangled flesh that's impossible to tell if it belongs to the creature or any unfortunate victims. ]
V͓͖̻̙͔͛ͬ͢A̼̱͙̗ͦŚ͆͌͊̐͐ͮ҉̠̟͖H̃͌ͮ́ͦ͋҉̲̝͕̠͕͔
I KNOW NO V̟̬̀Ă̼͎̳̩̘͇͎̐̂̉ͦS̡̥̣̱̈̓ͦ͂̓H̦͚͓̫̱͇͖̒̓̇ͮ̍ͤ͢
[ It howls, once again heaving all the anger and hot rage into the reply. The words are echoing, twisting and adding more voices, both through emotional bonds and slashed like claws into the air. ]
K̹̙͚̻̗̟̿͌̌͋͌Ǐ̢̪̩͕̜͍̄̽̃ͣ̿ͨL̤̫̥͓̘͚͛̄̅͝L̻̖͉̖̲̣͉͋͑ͬ̀ ̞͎ͩͦ̇T̫͓̖ͯ͊͋̅͝H̭̭͇̖̩̋̅ͭ͋̑͂ͦẼ̸̠̳̱̳͕̮͇̌M̱͍̃͆ͦͅ
KILL YOU
̥̩ͨ̂ͯ̕N͍̠͕̪͉̟͉̋͡O̯͈̤͚̬̟̅ͤ̔̓̆̊̒͠ ̖̞̮ͯͯ͆M̨̬̬͍ͅO̢̖̯͇R͈̮̯ͦͯ̚͠Ḙ͕̻͘ PAIN
TOO MUCH
[ More, larger feathers, drawn like swords from the cocoon of wings and pointed in Vash's direction. ]
STOP IT
STOP YOU
Ň̩̭̯͈̹̜͇̔͆̈́͑̊O̠̱ͦ͒͗ͭͅWͫ͗͛̀́͌͏͕̫
no subject
No, that was the moment the unnatural fear the thing caused turned into legitimate horror, for reasons both obvious and obtuse, a slowly-dawning thought niggling at the back of his mind, not quite taking full shape.]
Jesus, is that a Plant??? What's happened to it???
[He recoiled a small distance, his attention torn between Vash and the thing, at the trail of entrails and gore that followed behind it, the words it screamed ricocheting around almost painfully inside of his head as if he had a physical body again.
It was the feathers, though, that made him feel like he was physically ill for the first time in his entire afterlife. Oh, no, no, he didn't like those. Those were familiar, too familiar, but the instant recognition was too unbelievable. Just a coincidence, just a coincidence! Just...just a Plant thing, it had to be!
So why, then, did he find himself rushing forward, focusing his energy on scooping up a handful of sand before he was letting himself slide through the ball of wings, knowing how painful it was going to be if phasing through any Plant felt as uncomfortable as the times he had shifted through Vash without meaning to, until he was right inside of its personal space and letting his hands carry the sand forward, aiming to phase through the eyes that shone out from within and leave the physical grains behind.]
DOWN, BOY!
[Distract it from Vash, keep it from being able to see him and hope his disembodied shout would be enough of a surprise to confuse it. Even if he worried those feathers didn't need vision to protect the creature underneath, that they were acting of their own accord, keeping it safe whether it wanted them to or not.
Though this one certainly seemed to have more than enough desire to want it. And all the while, something about its words kept rattling through his head.]
no subject
But...
There was one thought, a center of calm, painful, grieving calm within, which was not shaken by any of this. A center that had grown stronger now that Rem was returned to him, however strange that was. ]
Killing does not stop the pain. Then you would just be alone with the pain.
[ The thought was not hurled violently back, but instead settled like a pool of serenity, present and gentle but while the surface could be rippled, it would not be destroyed.
He was aware of what Wolfwood was doing, he couldn't not, but somehow he was afraid that a soul, in a situation like this, was more vulnerable even than flesh and blood. And his were more durable than most. He did not flinch away from the feathers aimed at him. ]
I will try to not cause you more pain.
no subject
It's badly, badly hurt. Maybe even dying.
Then there's sand in said eyes and it howls, cocoon topping to the side and rolling like an oversized tumbleweed, sword-like feathers hitting the ground but missing Vash. The rage only intensifies, garbled gasps and claws slashing out as if it could smack the unseen presence away. ]
L̝̣̣̩͚͚̋̈̓ͧͬI̸̖̖̞ͧ̊̌ͩ͆̃̇A̹̱͇̝̻̮̦͒ͭR̷͕̬̳̭͖̔̓ͦ̃̾ͥͦͅ
[ It shrieks as a reply to all that kindness and calm from its stupid, foolish brethren, because hadn't it just been hurt, no matter how little? It will always hurt, everyone will hurt it so everyone, everything will have to die. ]
IT MAKES IT STOP
A̧͖̗̪͖̺͋̈́̽̊̎̌Ḻ̸̫̱̯̙͑̏͋̽O̷̖̼̩̠̿ͯ͗̌͑N̷̺̜̯̻͒͋͑͑͗̐̏Ḝ̥͎̳̘̹̽ͫ̃ͤ̇ͅ
I'M ALWAYS ALONE
[ More feathers rake against the sand and then it's moving again, heading straight towards Vash with another ripping, horrifying mess of bone, wing and white-hot rage. ]
I WILL MAKE IT S̵̪̫̩̗̜̥̍̆̄̋ͅṬ̻̜̰͎͝O̵̘̙̲͉͚͎P̺͚͉̯͈ͥ̍ͅ!
no subject
NO! NO! God, oh God, please no!!! [He had no doubt he would have been physically, violently ill if he'd still been alive, and even as he was, it sent him stumbling to the ground, his own voice shrieking out, wailing, for a moment unable to hold back his own wave of grief as tears poured down his face.
But then he was dragging himself to his feet again, lunging after the thing, even as he braced himself for the agony it was going to put him through to shift through that barrier of feathers all over again.]
VASH, IT'S DYING! HELP IT REST, VASH! GIVE IT MERCY, IT'S IN AGONY, PLEASE!
[He didn't want to believe what he was seeing, couldn't believe what his mind was telling him, but the chance that it was right, that this nightmare was real was too much, too much. Even if he was wrong, let it die, and he would sort it out on the other side! Whatever was left when this thing came to meet him, he would take care of it! It was what Vash would have wanted him to do, and if it-...if it was...
He was openly sobbing when he neared it, but he sent his voice out to it nonetheless, and he reached out and forced himself to touch it, focused all of his attention on reaching it]
Let him help you! Let us help! We can make it stop, I promise, I'll take you home, I can take you where you won't have to hurt anymore! Never again! There's no more pain, I promise!
no subject
[ It was said - sobbed - out loud, the word the only denial he would allow himself just yet.
He could not. But he also understood exactly why Wolfwood would beg him for this. Why he would promise, why he would beg...
But with all the ways that Vash did trust Wolfwood, he was not sure that was the right choice. He would never thinking it the right choice. Still... in this situation, he could understand why that might be the preferable choice. Not for him. Not for Wolfwood. But for the one suffering so greatly. ]
Is that what you want? To end?
[ There was incredible sadness and unclouded compassion to go with the question, and still more soothing. And he was not flinching from the feathers. He would not fight them. He might, if they did strike, try to curl in on himself to protect himself from damage that would alarm Wolfwood or Rem, but that was the most of it.
He knew that who was in front of him was badly, horribly hurt.
He also knew... from experience, that a plant could recover from that. And from worse.
It wouldn't be a matter of dying slower or faster. But of...
Hope.
Did this one have any left? ]
no subject
Those eyes turn towards Wolfwood, the emotional mess and rage latching on like it wants to drown the spectre in it just as he yells for something - someone - to hurt it again. Liar. What a liar, saying he will help and asking for its death at the same time. That's what they always do. Promise mercy.
There's no thing as mercy.
Close like this, the protected form inside is even more of a mess than the brief glimpse Wolfwood had gotten before. Those eyes aren't even attached to a face, just another curved, bony wing. The head is elsewhere, blond, bloody tresses almost hidden with feathers - and so is a floating arm, sticking out awkward from another wing-like mutation. Broken apart, ripped apart, shattered from within. Half if it is just missing, even some of the innards growing feathers as they're dragged behind it. ]
THERE'S Ǎ̸̺͉̣̰͇ͭ͋̈Ḽ͇̖̩͂ͬ͊ͅW̹͂ͣA͌̓̅͐ͪͩ̈Y̡̭̗͉͊̉ͨ̊S͍̗̲̟̻͊̒͊̌̓͒͂ PAIN. LIAR. DISGUSTING.
YOU SHOULD BE DEADER.
K̃҉̹̳̣̥ͅI̵̝̻͙̦̥̯͎L͕͇̲̘̼̜ͅL̠͊͌͋͒ͬ͗ ̢̺̥̂Ȉ̼͎͎̈̆̎ͥ͆T͉͍̙̰͈̹̓͋́!
[ Swipes of sharp feathers are whacked around, but they can't really hit Wolfwood. All it does is hurt itself even more.
...then his voice comes in. Asking. Is that what you want? To end? The winged monstrosity hesitates, and the eyes come to 'face' Vash instead. The thrashing calms just a bit, replaced by barely-held rage and violent trembling. It hurts, it hurts so badly but it isn't dying. It's can't die. Maybe it wants to, to not hurt, but still- ]
N̼̘͎͉͆͘O̵̥͍̠̜͑͛̔̐̚. DESTROY EVERYTHING
NO REST. ONLY PAIN
UNTIL THEY P͓͕̃A͍͎̰̰̥͡Y̷ͯ̽͛ͮ̅͌.
[ Now it moves again, rushing towards Vash like it aims to crush him beneath wings and horror. Yet at the same time, the endless rage is now tainted by almost child-like fear. ]
NO MORE
NO MORE!
RIPS M̬̣̗̻͓Ë̻̣͚̠ͫ͒͒̎̚ ͉͙̠̖̖̟̗̊͐ͩ͆ͭA̢͓͙̮͚͔̳͓͐̾̏P̧̑͐͒ͫ͛͗À̩̣̬̯̭̞̍ͥͬ͞R̬̈͑̍͂͜T̰̊̈̑̈ͣ̔
I'M STILL ALIVE! STOP IT!!
no subject
But the sight of those limbs, the face, body parts broken, shredded, the thing screaming in his head, was enough to distract him from all of that, was almost more than he could stand. But he refused to stop, not when it was hurting this badly, not when he couldn't stand the thought of the suffering continuing, not if it were Vash. Even as the feathers flailed wildly, phasing through his body in a way that made him feel like his molecules were being shredded for brief seconds of pain, he pressed on, his voice sobbing, desperate to be heeded.]
No, listen, I promise, please listen! I can take you somewhere the pain will stop! It's why I'm here! You mom asked me to stay! She moved on with your brother, but she asked me to wait for you! They're waiting for you, please let me take you home, Vash!
[But the mass of viscera and agony wouldn't stop, was lunging for the other man, and he panicked, running after it. He could stop it, he had to! He could-...he could possess it! He'd done it once before, so many years ago! He'd never done it to a Plant, but it might work!
Or...or the feathers! Memories, he could share the memories! Could he? Would it work? Maybe if he focused everything he had on reaching out, forcing enough energy into making just a little part of himself corporeal, he could make contact with those feathers and show him, the way the Plants had done in Octovern as Nicholas had been forced to stand by and watch the war waging around them with no way to help, the way Vash had accidentally done when he'd been panicked and hurting as Hoppered tried to take revenge on him for July.
Worried that if he didn't act, the still-healthy and whole Vash would die, and willing to risk what might happen if so much raw energy overpowered him when he tried, he moved, focused his hand, reached out, and dug suddenly-solid fingers into one of the only places he could find that was feathered but appeared to be at least somewhat whole.]
no subject
[ Vash heard Wolfwood, his eyes blurry but widening a little, but even that...
He could not stop trying. So few people tried for them. Any of them. Wolfwood was one of those few, and he was also trying in his own way. It's why I'm here, ghostly words etching themselves into his heart in blood, a fresh would less immense than the feathered one in front of him, but just as unlikely to heal or be forgotten. ]
But you are in more pain than you need to be. We plants, we survive a lot. But it hurts. It hurts the most when nobody does anything, or they make it worse, because then it goes on, and on, and on.
But it can be helped, some things will make the pain less. I have gotten good at patching, over time.
Or I can hold you for a while. That sometimes helps, too.
[ He did not say out loud that he was not going to let this one destroy everyone, everything. Threats were the last thing that was needed. And he was not trying to dodge.
People - humans, but not only - could do, and did, horrible things when they were afraid.
Vash was not afraid.
Not for himself, at any rate. ]
no subject
Home is pain and horror and cutting and sickness, home is even more fear. Why would taking it home make the pain stop? It doesn't understand, frustration mixing in with the rest of the typhoon of emotions. Why does the presence care? He doesn't know it. Vash, Vash, VASH!]
S̢̳͍̦̬̺͇̝͊ͤ̃͋̽ͯ̐T́̍̐̓͞Ò̳̺͎̠̀̄͗ͩ̀P̩̺̙̬͢ IT!
[ It yowls, trying to push Wolfwood away with thoughts and pain and rage. Yet then there's a touch and... memories. Strange ones. The kind that hurts but doesn't at the same time, because it's not alone? It's not alone!
Vash.
It doesn't stop - if anything it now speeds up. ]
IT HURTS
IT HURTS
H̢̗̯̜̒̊Ȩ̫̮̫͗ͤͯ͆Ļ͕̗̔ͦ̾̀̎͌P̴̜̲̰̯͔ͨ̒̂͂̎ US
Help me!
[ The last pleading isn't a cacophony of horror, it's a young girl's voice. Feathers and wings lessen their flurry, shrinking down - and then the twisted, grotesque form of humanoid pieces reaches out their hands - one barely hanging on - and jumps toward Vash's arms. ]
no subject
Rem, smiling at him, motherly but sad, and Knives beside her, stern and still intimidating but so tired. "He'll need someone to wait for him, Nicholas, but I can't stay, anymore. I won't make Knives go by himself. You understand, don't you? He'll be so happy to see you, and you can tell him for me. Tell him we're waiting for him. Can you do that for me? For us?" There was sadness in the memory, but also love, so much love, and a strange kind of joy that had only grown over the years. Memories of following Vash, chattering at him as if he could be heard, as if they hadn't lost a day, months, decades to Wolfwood's loss. And those first small, grey hairs amongst all the black that even now were so few and far between at Vash's temples, a sign that gave hope and happiness in what should have been something that brought a deep sadness.
The problem with being only a spirit and trying to stop something with that much force from barreling into someone was that there was no weight to it, nothing to really slow them down. He could only cling to the form as it screamed and lunged for Vash, dragging him behind in a way that would have threatened to yank the bones in his wrist apart if he'd still had them. And he felt himself losing his strength, he'd overexerted himself, used too much of his energy in speaking and touching and manipulating the world of the living around him. It was threatening to drag him back to the void, that dark place between perception of the living world and the light. He couldn't let himself slip away, yet, he had to stay here, he had to stop what was happening!]
STOP, PLEASE!
[His voice sounded weak even to his own ears, and for a moment, so did the screaming, horrible voice that rang out between him and Vash, and he worried that he was losing what constituted as consciousness.
But then the voice changed, no longer rage and fury, but a sad, scared little thing, a familiar thing from almost as far back as his last memories of life, someone he hadn't thought about for a very long time. But the recollection made something fall into place, his horror shifting to take a different form. The memory of a tiny little thing, hiding just on the edges of perception in the in-between, following Rem and himself for the few short months they'd gotten to know each other. The story Vash's mother told, when she knew that he had noticed. So much sadness, so much guilt, so much sorrow.
Memory of sitting down, quiet, pretending to whittle a little thing and just waiting for the tiny, blonde-headed girl to creep out and come closer. The thing with kids who are that shy, that frightened, is you can't come to them. You've got to make yourself smaller, put yourself on their level, and let them come to you, like coaxing a kitten out of hiding. Humming off-key to himself. What would a child who'd never gotten to experience love and protection find interesting? Something as immensely intelligent as a Plant, but so very young, so isolated, so traumatized that all she had known was pain and fear? In the end, it had been the simple act of the whittling itself that had done the trick, simple curiosity just barely peeking out from underneath the distrust in her eyes as she finally crept out of the shadows.
"Hey, mija. You wanna see?" He'd decided to make what had worked in the past. A tiny bird, though its wings were a little more skilled than that first one, its feathers inspired by the ones he'd seen on Vash so many times, on his sisters the few times he'd seen one up close. Held out in his hand, this figment of a thing that didn't really exist for anyone except them, manifested from his own energy, until her tiny hand had reached out and taken it, oh so gingerly.]
Te-Tessla?
[Not Vash. Not Vash, his big sister, but still hurting, still in need of help, the baby who never got to live, who he'd sat and quietly whispered to for days before finally convincing her that going towards the light meant she didn't have to be afraid, anymore.
His fingers lost corporeality and he tumbled to the ground, dazed, the connection gone and his mind reeling. She could still hurt Vash, she could still cause harm to the people around her. He tried to pull himself to his feet, but the world around him was grey. It was taking everything in him to stay present, stay conscious.]
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Oh.
Back... back when they found the files, she had seemed so -- he had no words. They had been scared of the parts of her that were still kept, at least Vash had been. But now she seemed so impossibly young, and the terror, even the hatred, all made sense. If Vash had not lost the battle with tears much earlier, he would have done so now.
He did not flinch as she moved closer, and as she reached for him, as he could feel Wolfwood breaking apart also, as memories from both of him flooded him, he stood, steadfast, still in the eye of the storm. He reached for her, careful, oh so careful to not let his arms fall where it was more obvious she hurt. And in his need to protect her from as much pain as possible, right this moment, his body reacted, a single wing of darkness sprouting from his back to gently wrap around her, so soft, to keep as much of her from touching the sand as he could. He... was probably going to panic about that later, along with everything else. But for now, it let him hold her without the clumsiness and the limitations of his hands and arms, and even extended sightly towards Wolfwood, but then gently retreated, remembering that touching a plant was painful.
He wished he could help both. Right now.
But he... had to rely, to trust, that Wolfwood had had enough experience to hold himself from falling apart. Because his sister had never had the chance to learn, about comfort, about help, and she needed him more right now. Or at least he thought so. ]
I'm here. You're not alone anymore. I'm here.
[ How many plants had he said those words to, over the decades? He didn't need to count. But he knew, now, that in a way he had always been trying to tell her what nobody else would have, what he couldn't have, when he had been so young he hardly knew where he ended and the world began. ]
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She's struggling, now. The others are protesting but she had seen it thanks to that feverish memory the thing shared, she had somehow seen it and he's just like her. Suffering, pieces cut away because of humans. He would understand the fear, the grief, the pain. The anger.
He would help her kill them, wouldn't he?
She still falters, though, almost crashing into the sand before other feathers join in - black and sparking prettily, keeping her safe. A brother's wing. It means he agrees, doesn't it? ]
DON'T T̩͎̺̺̩͕͈R̶͙͇̙̬̖̎̃ͅU̥̹̗̘̳̅ͪ̂͛͊̊̈ͅS̨͇͎̝̝̟ͨ̄T̺̩̠̝̱̼̠͛̓͋̌ HIM.
DESTROY THEM
THE T̸͉̫͍ͤ̏̽H͎͖̹̥̟̱̯ͯ̅̿ͣ̎I̺̤͎̫͔͚͊ͪͥ̉͒̓͝Nͫ͂͢G̦̾̈́̉̂̅ͦ̑ HURT YOU
LIARS LIARS LI̖͉ͮA͍̬͙̱̼͉ͩ͋͋̉̕R͏̜͖͕̲͍͓S̶̉̾͌̒͗
No. Please.
[ She wants them to be quiet for once, but they want to protect her, and it's a warring mess of voices inside. One hand finally reaches to grasp at a red coat and there's a disgusting crack, and slippery, bloody sound as Tessla breaks free from the rest of the plants.
She can't last like this, there's so little left of her, but she needs... she just needs a moment.
In the end, it's half a girl in the Stampede's arms, bits and pieces barely attached with twisted bones and feathers. Behind her is the cocoon, bristling in anger but lacking voices without their core. ]
Red... brother?
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The voices, though, snapped his attention back to the matter at hand, and even if they couldn't see him, he shuffled closer, watching as she dragged herself out of the mass, only half a body, broken, horrifying in ways he had rarely seen even in the most violent, enhanced fights. The memory of Livio and himself slaughtering each other in front of the orphanage wasn't as grotesque as this, and he had lived it.
Even if not for very long.]
Y'gotta let 'er go, Needle-Noggin. Come on. She doesn't deserve this...[Words not meant to be heard, because he was groggy enough that for a moment he forgot that it was a thing he'd been actually doing for the first time in so many years. He stepped closer when he did remember, until he was close enough that he could have felt their body heat if he'd been in a physical body, almost close enough to touch, the raw energy of whatever made them up just tingling at the edges of his perception. Close enough that when he worked up the energy to speak again, they could still hear him, even though his voice was incredibly faint.]
I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry I hurt you. I didn't want you hurtin' your brother. I won't do it again.
neesan.... T_T
But for a long moment, there was nothing but holding the broken body close, and letting himself try to radiate as much calm and soothing and love as he has in him. For her. For Wolfwood. Even for the seething cocoon.
(If he had heard those words...
... he would have told Wolfwood that it would have to be her choice. He understood every single aspect of what Wolfwood meant, but so many choices were taken from her, whether to live or die would have to be something she decided. He would...
He would abide by it. ]
Hello, big sister. I never thought I would be able to meet you properly.
My name is Vash, but Red brother also works, if you like it. The one who is apologizing is Nicholas D. Wolfwood, except this one is already dead, and a ghost. [ when he was saying that killing doesn't mean the pain would stop, he was not speaking platitudes, only specifics. ] This place is very strange, it has brought many people here that don't normally belong in one place. There is one other Nicholas D. Wolfwood who is alive, but he's not here right now. There is also my big twin brother, one who is very young, only a year old, and one who is much older. Perhaps he should be... white brother? I'm not sure. His name is Nai, and later Millions Knives. And now you are here, too.
Welcome to Noman's Land.
🧿💧
Never any mercy.
Even when the humans thought she was dead, and couldn't hear her scream as she was cut into so many pieces. ]
Vash... [ She whispers, listening to him as he speaks of ghosts. She doesn't know what a ghost is, and the invisible thing's apologies just confuse her. Some of the humans said they were sorry, but they still continued to hurt her, so what did 'sorry' even mean? Wolves and woods and things she doesn't know. At least she didn't hurt her brother, the thing was right about that. She would have broken more if she did.
Twin brothers, though? More like her? More like them? ] I want to meet... the N̠̦̜̖ͦ̕aͩi̷̗̦͈̠͛̈́̑̅. I don't like ̏̑́͛͋̀k̹̮̹̉ͩ̀̿ͩ̄ͫn̲̣̳̘͚̩̆̓̅̈ï̢͓ͬ̌̚v͍̣̬̜̰̯̩ͭͫͭ̓̆ͭͧe̛̤̖͙͔͛͑ͨͨ̓͊s̭̪̍̓͆̈͊͛ͥ̕. They hurt. [ She struggles to say through all the pain, and knowing that there's more of her kind that are not in pieces somehow makes it all feel so much easier. She's surrounded by so much love and peace from her brother that even the cocoon stills, the sisters finally relaxing a bit. ]
Thank you. Thank y͔̖̞̞̳͔͔͌́̍ͧ̂o̖͕͚̞̭̰͓͂ͫ͊̎u̴̯̹͙͌ͅ.
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But he needed rest, and he didn't want to risk letting himself slip into the void here, when he knew how easy it was for him to lose time there. It was a safer thing back at Rem's little home, but that in and of itself brought even more hurdles.
He turned his head so that when he spoke, sparing only the slightest amount of energy so that his voice was barely audible, he was speaking right into Vash's ear.]
Can't leave 'er out here, Blondie. But don't think she'd take kindly to mom...can't make the decision for you. Gonna need to rest soon. Tired. [And so he hopefully wouldn't worry too much, because that was just what he knew he did, a moment later he murmured out again.] Can get home, fine. We're not far out. But if I go quiet, don't worry. Takes energy to...stay present. Be heard.
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[ then he bowed his head again, to press a soft kiss against soft blond hair. ]
Nai is adorable, and very little still, though he'll grow up eventually. And I know knives are dangerous and they hurt, but he... [ vash breathed out slooowly. ] He was so angry at the humans, all of them. And since his powers tend to metals, and he wanted to hurt all the humans - first because of what they did to you, then other plants also - he took on the name Millions Knives.
He is also... older than me. His power is nearly spent, but he knows how to use it better than anyone else I know. Perhaps he can teach me and guide me to use mine to help you. I ah... have helped a lot of plants, but they were always in their bulbs, or at least in their containers. Non were physically hurt. So I might need some of what he can teach me.
Will you let me try to ask?
[ could he have called out to him already? perhaps, maybe even without alerting anyone here though that was less likely. did he want to do something behind her back? absolutely not. people had made decisions about her until they left so little of her. he would not do that to her.
to anyone. ]
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One little like her. Would they hurt him, too? The thought makes her whine, clutching tighter to Vash like he's a lifeline, a balm to her pain with how he soothes her. It takes a while for the rest to register, but she had a big brother, too? Who was angry with the humans because of her and their bulb sisters.
What does being nearly spent mean? Was that falling apart, like she did?
The rest is a bit of a blur, but Tessla wants to meet her brothers. Vash says he can ask this Knife for help to help her, but nobody could help her. Could they? If they could, why didn't they help her before? It's a lot of thoughts, more than the anger and grief, and she coughs wetly against the red of the coat. ]
Ask the s̯̩̤̙ͬ̂͝h̅ͤ͋͋̆͢a͉͓̥̩̯̦͊̕r̡ͮ͂̄p̹̣̲̞̃͜ brother.
[ She says, her voice fainter. All of this is so, so much for her and she should probably go back to the cocoon to rest, but she doesn't want to leave Vash. She can't bear even the thought of leaving his arms. The sisters love her, but he is more than they are. ]
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And he is also using some of his powers to soothe, not only emotionally, but physically, although the kind of pain that she is in can't truly cease without the wounds mending. ]
All right. [ A bit of silence. Then. ] He will come and help. Guide.
[ There is a flicker of something brighter and easier and at the same time sadder as he says that word, but it's drowned in the reality of here and now. ]
Big sister? Do you think the sisters here will help? I don't know yet where most of our sisters were taken - Delphinium says Octovern, but I haven't gotten that far yet, so I can't tell. And Na- Kn-- sharp brother is saying that the more plants help, the better.
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But he needed rest, and he knew Vash needed to focus on taking care of her. Still...if things didn't end the way Vash wanted them to...he listened to him speak of Knives, of being able to ask him for help, and tried to file it away in his memory for later questioning, because wasn't that an important piece of information that he needed to discuss with him. But then he turned back to him, whispered again.]
Will be with Rem. I'll be fine.
[And then, louder, so that the small form clinging to Vash could hear, his voice as soft and reassuring as he could be.]
Tessla, Vash will do his best for you, but...if you find yourself in a big, dark place, don't be afraid, alright? Look for the bright light and go to it. It's safe there. That's the place I told you about. I'm supposed to take your brother there when it's his turn. Nobody can hurt you there. Just go to the light, and Vash will come find me, so I can take him to find you again, ok?
[Even if it was decades from now. He hoped Vash understood the unspoken instructions, left unsaid so they wouldn't confuse or frighten her and waste his own energy; if she dies, come back to Rem's. Once he was rested, the first thing he would do would be to check on them, and if she had passed, he would have Vash lead him back out here, so he could make sure she wasn't lost. Even if it meant heading into the light himself.
He turned, reaching out to let his hand touch, for just a brief moment, against Vash's shoulder. It hurt, a lot, and he sucked in a false breath at the pain. But he hoped it was enough for Vash to be able to feel him there, to be as much of a physical comfort as he could give, before he pulled away again, shaking the sharp vibrating sensation in his extremities, and began making his way slowly back to Rem's little settlement.]
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Laying here feels so nice, though. Warm and soft and soothing, taking some of that agony and leaving unspecific but pleasant fuzziness instead. Feeling safe and cared for is so new to her that she's not even sure what to make of the feeling, only that it better than anger and pain.
Then she hears the other person again, and she twitches slightly in Vash's arms. A big dark place? That sounded scary... but so did a light. They had stuck a lot of lights in her eyes, and the sharp lights in the box made her sick. The Wolf said Vash would be there, though. Right? ] Okay. [ She finally replies, a little uncertain about it all.
Then her red brother speaks again, mentioning the sharp brother. ]
Ǧ̟̥͎̼̝̬̇̆ͯ͂ͬ́ͅū͚̦͌ͣ͒̄̈́i͍̊ͫ̈ͣ̑d̻̮̝͕͙͖̪̒͞e̡͙̾ͤͩͧ̏... [ She mumbles, wondering what that word means and why it made her brother feel a lot of feelings. It seems it will help, though. Because her red brother is made of helping. Asking another brother to come fix her.
She likes having brothers. ]
The sisters... they're part of me. I'm part of ț̷̩̖̺̱̦͓͊̾̈̚h͚̲̭͉̞̥͈ͩe̹̥̳̲̭̦͛̌ͪ̐̄̎m̗ͨͣ͟. They want to keep me safe. [ Tessla starts, and the cocoon sways a bit, a few wings stretching. The hole in the middle where she pulled herself free is also bleeding, an open wound in their half-assimilated shared body. ] They will help.
[ They've been helping ever since the crash, to stop her crying, to shield her body, to hold her tight every time her soul cracked and she screamed and screamed until there was no air left to fill her sick lungs. Protectors, nurses and avengers, creating a feathery hospice for a girl who should have been loved. ]
I don't know any other sisters.
[ She eventually says, and her voice is wet and unsteady, blue eyes hazy on the wing that hosts them. ]
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And he is doing as much as he can to maintain her state, rather than degrade, although the cocoon bleeding is worrying him. There is so much that he is not certain about, but calmer does seem to be better. He thinks. ]
If everything works out, there will be so much to show you. Some of it might be complicated, and some you might not want to see again, but ... if nothing else, there is Delphinium. She is one like the other sisters, only she will talk to us, from her bulb. She is very nice.
[ ... that might not mean much coming from him, but on the one hand, he means it - on the other hand, it is not as though she can tell. Yet. ]
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I... would like to see more sisters.
[ Tessla whispers, her voice slowly starting to sound more like just her and not entwined with the other plants - but so, so much fainter. It hurts to speak, but she doesn't want to go back to the bed of sisters quite yet. With the edge of her misery dulled slightly, the little girl carefully turns her eye-wing to look up at her brother and then the sky.
She likes the sky. It has pretty colors. ]
You feel sad, red brother.
[ Tessla says, a tremor in her voice that ends in a raspy, wet breath. Her eyes slowly close, and her grip on his coat loosens as her consciousness wavers. ]
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wall of text. TW: descriptions of inside bits.
wehhh
continuing the body horror
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THAT WAS MY MISSING It oops
<3
oops!!
Ah well.
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