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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 then Vash was trying to reason with him, blocking his gun, and he couldn't shoot him, not Vash, his fingers loosening their grip instinctively until the gun almost sagged in his grip. How could he want him to stop? How could he still, after everything he'd been put through, want Knives to be safe??? Was that a mercy he'd ever been offered in return??? Did he honstly think for an instant that his brother would do the same for him???
But no, this was Vash. And Vash, despite every single bit of abuse that had ever been thrown his way, would of course refuse to look at it that way. It made him want to scream, and to be honest, it wouldn't have been the first time if he did, because it was the same damn argument they'd had countless times before!
The moment was enough for Nai to slip his focus, though, and enough that when the kid ran off into the desert, he didn't redirect his aim, didn't take the shot, but instead looked more startled than anything. His thoughts were already beginning to settle back into themselves, leaving a massive migraine throbbing behind his eyes, but he was himself, again, in fits and starts, and for a few breaths, he honestly expected the Vash beside him to reach over and yank him around by his hair for having aimed a gun at the kid in the first place.
It wasn't until he heard the ragged gasp that he began to realize something else entirely had begun to go wrong around him. The sight of gleaming white feathers against bright red had become so normal to him that he didn't notice them at first as they fell to the street beside him, and he was so dazed that the wet, squelching rip didn't register, either. But then one of them drifted close enough that it brushed his hand as it fell, spiking through a fleeting shock of foreign emotion - pain, horror, self-loathing, rip it out, rip it out!!! - and he flinched away, looking over in surprise to find Vash pulling entire handfulls of himself apart.]
Vash, oh God, what the fuck??? [His gun was tossed aside as he lunged to his knees, reaching out to grab his wrists before the sight fully sank in and he jerked back. The feathers, it was the feathers! He'd thought they were purely a...a defensive mechanism, a part of who he truly was that he kept hidden so he wouldn't frighten people, but they were more than that! He didn't want to grab for him, making that connection again when his fingers grasped onto more of them and just start the whole cycle over again, but he couldn't let him continue!] He's gonna tear himself to shreds!
[He only took a moment longer to reach out, grabbing the coiled tails of Vash's coat, before he was moving forward again and using them as a buffer between his hands and the feathers that were still attached as he grabbed him by the wrists and wrestled to pull his hands off of himself. He knew if he really wanted to, Vash was strong enough that he could fight him off, but it wasn't like he was going to just sit back and watch him mutilate himself, either! He had to at least try!]
Vash, no, stop! Stop, sweetheart, it's alright, you're alright!
no subject
[ His words could catch up better to his brother than his actions, but someone who could fly could--
Vash turned towards the other him, and then froze, the severe way in which he was just tearing parts of himself hitting him viscerally. He did not know why he was turning on those beautiful feathers like that - not yet - but the action was both something he deeply wanted to do to himself... and looked horrifying from the side.
Wolfwood was already moving, already holding Vash's wrists, so Vash stepped to move around and wrap himself around his other self's back, holding him gently around the chest. He didn't know that the feathers were what caused the memories, or the connection, but he wasn't thinking of any of his own - just the present, and the soft, soothing calm that he radiated when he was trying to help upset Plants. And for good measure, he tried to project it as far as he could, in the hopes that it would reach Nai, too.
And the soft word that Wolfwood used, the one that slipped past his conscious mind, he was sure, from his heart, only steadied him in that loving calm. A memory attempted to flicker in his consciousness, of a nearly incoherent Wolfwood as Vash first met him, but he let it drift past, instead focusing on here and now. ]
Vash... please. It won't make him hurt less, for you to be in pain, or to punish yourself. Please.
no subject
Something catches ahold of him, pinning his arms aside, and Vash can't muster the energy to care who it is or what they want. If he's restrained, then maybe he won't hurt anyone else. They can have him. They can take him away, it's okay. He's done. He's so tired.
But then there's someone warm behind him, someone soothing and gentle who presses up against his back, supporting him, and Vash closes his eyes and lets himself fall back against them. Against the other him. It's safe here, with his other self. It's quiet, and he knows, in his heart, that his other self won't let him hurt Knives anymore. He won't let him hurt Wolfwood. He can stop.
The feathers, mangled bloody ones and pristine alike, begin to pull back beneath Vash's skin as his panicked breathing slows. It's just him and himself here, and Vash turns his face to his other self, whispering secrets as he slips downwards into the welcoming darkness. ]
Please. I don't want to do this anymore.
no subject
But then the other Vash was there, and he could feel the reassurance he was radiating out, even if it wasn't the same for him as it would have been for their kind, and he watched Vash collapse into the support, the fight and the tension bleeding out of him into a picture of pure exhaustion. He waited, barely breathing himself, watching him to be sure he continued to breathe. When the feathers began to slip away, he shifted his hold enough to let the fabric of his coat fall away so that he could hold his right hand in both of his own.
Those words were soft, but Nicholas' hearing was fine enough thanks to the things that had been done to him that he could hear him just fine, even though he seemed to not realize he was there and the words didn't seem to be for him. He felt his heart breaking apart in his chest and he didn't know what to even say, if it would even be welcome, so he simply stayed silent, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles against the inside of his palm, the heat of his wrist through his glove.
He had done this. This whole day, everything he'd been through that lead up to now, was Nicholas' fault. As if he didn't feel emotionally raw enough, drained of every last bit of his own energy reserves already, the knowledge that he was like this because of what he had done was the final straw, and he had to fight back his own wave of exhaustion and even more tears than he'd already let himself show.
After a moment of trying to compose himself, he looked over at the other Vash, blinking through the blurriness around his vision, and then around them, down the street. He didn't often spend a lot of time in December, but he knew it well enough that he thought he could figure out a place they could go to get out of the open, at least for a while.]
I think...[His voice cracked, raw and quiet, and he cleared his throat.] there should be an inn nearby. It shouldn't be too hard to find the keys to the rooms. I think we could all use a bit of a rest.
[And maybe an entire bottle of something really, extremely high in the alcohol content. He needed to drink until his brain just shut down completely for a while, no amount of nicotine was going to cut it after this.]
no subject
After a while, he reached towards Wolflwood, the glisten of tears drawing his fingers closer, until the broken, true sweetheart reminded him that was not for him to try, so his palm ended up so gently on Wolfwood's shoulder, squeezing slightly.
He still waited out until he finally spoke, given a small nod at first, his voice quiet and rough around the edges, but nowhere near as ragged as he felt. And he could no longer sense Nai nearby, but he knew Nai had already gotten separated from the other Vash, so it ... might have been all right. ]
Right. Can you lead the way? I'll carry him. And... make sure you eat something before you start drinking, all right?
[ even with his years as Eircks, he knew his Wolfwood. ]
no subject
Yeah. Yeah. It's prob'ly best you get 'im, anyway. I...gotta carry the Punisher, and...I think he'll be more comfortable around you right now, anyway. [He shifted, letting Vash's hand down gently to rest in his lap as he stood, and he didn't immediately answer the part about the drinking as he looked around, in the direction he was sure the inn had always been, then back toward the saloon doors where he knew the Punisher had been left. There was a small ache on his lip that began to blur back into his senses, and for a moment, he had almost forgotten what it was before he lifted his hand, pressed it against his mouth, and pulled his fingers back to look at the blood.
Ah. Yeah. Right. Fair enough. That was going to take a bit to heal. He'd need to at least clean it up a bit once they got settled, but he'd...he'd definitely had worse.
He should probably answer that suggestion about food, before Vash started worrying, more than he always did alread.]
Yeah. Sure thing. [Not a chance, but he'd lied enough to Vash over the years that it was like second nature, even if every one of the lies accumulated in the back of his mind like a pebble; they'd been nothing, at first. Lying was just what he did. It was how he survived. But the more that he'd done it, the heavier they had had gotten, until now, there were so many pebbles that one more onto the pile barely weighed anything compared to the mountain of all the rest.] You left your bag in there, too, right? I can grab it. Lemme get those while you...get situated. Or...or I can come back out an' help you pick 'im up in a minute, if that'd be easier. Whatever. Hold on.
[He was walking before he could have even answered, marching into the saloon and slinging the cross over his shoulder, just like old times, then grabbing Vash's duffel bag with his free hand and walking back out to see if he needed help.]
Should be just a couple streets over, I think. Least it was, last time I was in town. I'm sure they'll have some vacancies.
[Hah. It was a joke, see? He was joking. It was fine.]
no subject
Wolfwood... I know everything is too much. But consider if the situations had been reversed. If you had lost him like that, and now you got him back. Would you really prefer to be near anyone else, anyone at all? [ deep breath, and he stood up, carefully, the other Vash's arms wrapped around his shoulders, and his own hands supporting the leather-clad thighs. ] I'm just the one hurting least right this moment. But yes, getting the Punisher and my bag will be a good idea.
I'll wait for you here. Then you lead the way.
[ There were foodstuffs rolling on the street around them, but Vash only paid attention to them to make sure he didn't slip or anything. The thought of food was unbearable, though. The other Vash had needed it, hadn't he? He squeezed his eyes tight, then carefully squatted away to put some of the cans in his coat pockets for later.
Perhaps he wasn't hoping for Wolfwood to eat in the first place, but he had to try. He was human, and that meant he needed it more. But he heard the lie in the reassurance, and did not bother to react to it.
'Better' than the other two did not mean he was doing particularly well. There were limits for him too, and he could only focus on so much.
Once he'd gotten some food with him, he straightened, steadying the passed out Vash on his back, and did wait.
Once they made it to the inn, they took a few moment to find a room that was reasonably clean, and Vash got the other Vash settled on the bed, taking the bag... and the punisher
- the latter to lean against the wall - and nodded to Wolfwood. He couldn't take away his cross, any more than Wolfwood could take his. But he could take away the visual reminder that something was so messed up, if only for a little while. ]
I'll come down in a bit.
[ ... then he busied himself getting the other Vash rid of the coat and boots, because those were not the best to sleep in, and then to check if - no, where, bandages were needed.
In passing, he thought how their scars were not exactly the same. But that made a lot of sense, didn't it?
Then he sat down, running a hand through his hair. He should go check on Wolfwood. And he would. Just... he needed a moment, too. ]
no subject
That’s him. Vash rubs a shaking hand over his face, absently noting the neat and snug bandages wrapped around his arm. He’d been hurt? …No, his gate, his monster, he’d… he’d tried to pull it out again. He’d tried to rip it out, because of what it did to his brother. Because of what it had shown his brother.
Knives, laughing at the Great Fall. Knives butchering the town of bandits. Knives tearing his gate open.
He’s going to be sick. ]
Where’s Knives?
no subject
Which was why the only reaction Vash would get out of that as he walked away to collect their things was a soft, noncommital grunt and a nod. He didn't even know if he'd be able to tell he'd reacted at all.
Getting them into a clean, safe room was comfortably routine, at this point. Even before he'd settled the Punisher against the wall and set Vash's bag gently on the little breakfast table, he was instinctively glancing at the windows, turning to check the locks were functional, poking his head into the en suite, walking over to the window to make sure it was latched properly. They were habits built upon years and years of working with the Eye, and it wasn't until he felt his foggy brain beginning to wonder why he wasn't hearing any of the normal sounds he'd come to associate with checking into an inn for the night - hushed voices from below, people and cars and dogs in the streets, distant sounds of water running through pipes - that he remembered that they weren't things they would probably need to worry about while they were here. There was no one else in the damned town. Hadn't been for days.
So he'd turned to watch Vash get the other settled, blinked dumbly at Vash reassuring him he'd come down in a bit, and...just nodded. It was an unspoken permission that he took silently, casting his eyes down as he turned and walked out the door, down the stairs, into the bar, and around the back of the counter to search through what hadn't already been looted. It was...Weird pickings, to be honest. Alcohol was one of the last things you needed in a survival situation, unless you wanted to try and use it for first aid - not exactly the best solution, but if you were short on actual medical supplies, you took what you could get - but it was also a high-ticket item. People paid top dollar for their vices when they were in stressful situations, or they stole what they could find. And the number of people who turned to the sauce on No Man's Land when things got tough could have very well outnumbered those who didn't.
He was lucky enough to find a few bottles of cheap whiskey, though. Not the good stuff, but he didn't care if it was the good stuff right now. He sat down at one of the tables and didn't waste any time on the first bottle, popping the cork out with his teeth and slamming the entire thing back in one go. It burned like fire in his throat and made his stomach churn when he finished it off and threw it against the far wall. But his metabolism was as fucky as it had ever been. It wasn't long before he could feel the burn of it seeping out into his blood, through his chest, and as he felt the stuff beginning to roll down his shoulders and into his fingers, he decided he could take the next bottle a little more slowly.
He still didn't bother with a glass, though. It wasn't worth the time or the energy that required it. Taking it that slowly meant there was more of a chance of it wearing off before he was well and truly past the point of drinking himself under the table.
Which was why, later, when they came looking for him, he would be found with the almost completely empty bottle tucked in the crook of his arm against his chest, where he lay with his head on the table. He didn't even seem to have tried to get comfortable. No, he'd simply gone until the room had spun enough that he'd put his head down, only for a minute, just a minute, until the room settled, honest. That was all it took for him to pass clean out.]
no subject
There was another shake. I can't feel him anywhere in... December.
[ They would need to find him. Or at least Vash would. ]
You should have-- [ something to eat did not go well with the nauseated expression on the familiar, ish, face. ] A few sips of water, at least.
no subject
His face hurts from smiling, but he can’t make it stop. ]
I didn’t mean for him to see any of that.
[ The other Vash can certainly feel the grief and guilt pouring off of him in waves, especially when his eye catches the Punisher leaning up against the far wall. Water? Food? No, what he needs is to be as far away from the people he loves as he can get, so that maybe, maybe he can stop hurting them. He needs to get out of here, needs to get to Octovern.
Needs to go fight his brother, one last time. ]
I’m sorry. [ There’s no tears this time, at least. Only his pathetically quavering voice and shaking hands. ] After all this time, I still can’t control it.
no subject
Then his eyes snap back towards Vash. He knows that combination of feelings, and the urge, the need.
To run.
But he looks away again, still smiling, and his voice is soft. He is not judging. He can't believe it, but he won't judge. ]
After all that... are you really... can you really just leave him behind?
no subject
That makes me a hypocrite, doesn’t it? Wanting to leave. [ He swings those long legs over the edge of the bed, and grimaces slightly at the feel of grimy floor beneath his bare feet. Where are his shoes? …Ah, there. ] He left me, did you know that? [ The other Vash’s hair says that, no, he’s not there yet, and Vash hopes fervently that when his time comes to defend the orphanage from the Eye, his Wolfwood will make the right choice. They’ve always worked better as a team.
Two buckles to get off, thirty buckles to get back on -- he’ll be awhile getting his feet back into these boots. ]
He snuck out just before dawn, because after everything he’d done for me, he didn’t think protecting his home was important enough to bring me along. [ That was this dawn, this morning, and the pain -- and anger -- at being left behind isn’t something he can tamp down at all. Pain is most of what’s keeping him going at this point. ] So he came out here alone, and he died.
[ He pauses, hand on a buckle, to look up and meet the other Vash’s gaze. For a hundred and fifty years he’s been alone, and he fully expected to be alone for the rest of his life. Then he met Wolfwood. It was never going to last -- the road they’re both on isn’t a long one, and it’s got a bloody end -- but he still wasn’t ready for it to end so soon. He’s finally found love that isn’t a mother’s gentle care or a brother’s obsessive violence, and it hurts so much some days he can’t bear it. ]
I don’t want to leave him behind, but I won’t watch him die again.
[ December was the end of Wolfwood’s road, and Knives has always been the end of Vash’s. ]
I don’t know what to do.
no subject
Do you really think that leaving alone will prevent that? Because you know as well as I do that when he comes to himself, he'll go after you. And he will be reckless. And he will find you because that's what he does, but he will not be in the shape to survive.
[ And it will be horrible. ]
The only way to not watch him die again is to make sure you're both rested... And to go together. You're always better together.
[ Vash takes a deep breath, and by the way it shakes realizes he's trembling. ]
When he showed up. He was furious at himself that he let you stay with him and so put you in danger.
You two really should try to stop finding ways to break each other and be strong. Together. Since I'm not sure even I could be the kind of backup he can be for you. And you for him.
no subject
He has to hope. He wants to trust that it's possible, that he can stop Knives, that with Wolfwood they can stop him cleanly. But the fear is so hard to shake.
You're always better together, yes, that's true. They always have been, up until this last fight. If he could wipe December from his mind, forget what Wolfwood looked like with Chapel's Punisher lodged in his chest, forget Livio's ruined face, then maybe he could believe that together they'd succeed.
There's a scrap of something colorful that catches his eyes in the cuff of his coat, and Vash picks the fragment of bright confetti out and lets it drift to the floor. He can't forget something like that, and how can he move forward with that weight? ]
You can't come with me. [ That, at least, he can be certain of. He snaps the final buckle and looks up to finally see that the other Vash shaking, and without thinking, he reaches out a hand for the other to take. Is he frightened for Vash, for Wolfwood, or is it something else? He can't tell. ] I wouldn't ask that of you, friend. This isn't your fight. It's mine.
[ Stop finding ways to break each other. Is that really what he's been doing? ]
You were with him awhile, before I arrived?
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And he shifts a little. ]
I need to find Nai. And Wolfwood - my Wolfwood. ... I hope. [ yelp, that's hard to say out loud.
But he's not refusing outright. It's just that he's not confirming either. If what he finds out lets him think he should go, he will. But he is willing to accept that there are things that he doesn't know yet, so he might be more in the way than help. ]
Ah... well? Sort of? He kind of showed up right as we were reaching Julai, my Wolfwood and I. He - Knives had Meryl and Roberto, and we were going for them, so once he was resting and I could se that he was going to recover, we went on. He, well, the two of them found me ... after, a few months back. So not too long, but some. [ So. Yes, Wolfwood has been there for two years and change. But he's spent most of that time with only himself, and his other self, as company. Time that Vash can't give back to either of them. ] He thought I was a fake one there to take him beyond. When he first showed up.
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But their stories are so different, he's learning, that any similarities at all seem to be coincidence more than anything. Meeting Wolfwood, and Meryl, before July? Someone named Roberto, and then being held by Knives? He's not sure his Knives, his brother from his world even knows that Meryl exists. He hopes that's the case. She'll be a lot safer if she manages to stay below Knives's radar. ]
We'll find him, if he's here. Your Wolfwood.
[ But even as he says it, he knows it's a lie. There's no we here, is there? This Vash needs to go find the rest of his team, his Wolfwood, his brother Nai. Maybe with his different history he'll have a different ending, too? That's something to hope for, certainly!
With a deep breath to steady himself, Vash rises to his feet with hardly a wobble. Just a little further to go. He's almost there. ]
But first, I think we should go drag my Wolfwood out of whatever bottle he's crawled into.
[ He knows the man too well by now, and there's no question in Vash's mind where Wolfwood is hiding. ]
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[ Quietly. He hasn't lost hope but he is Concerned. ]
Wolfwood - yours - was worried that mine would have taken his place.
[ which is why they came to December. Vash moves to stand next to his other self, ready to join him or... support him if necessary. And he would be willing to talk about his story. But Vash might want to hear it from his Wolfwood, after all. ]
And yes, let's go get him. Also, how are you... doing? And do you have a preference how I should call you.
[ Both questions get a small shrug out of Vash. He knows the first one is not too likely to get a proper answer, but he has to ask. The second question, well. Not that he has a preference himself, but it seems right to ask. ]
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Some small part of Vash, deep inside, can't stop screaming. He fixes his fake smile in place -- a little lopsided, but it'll do for now -- and he pats the other Vash on the shoulder companionably. ]
I guess it's too confusing if we're both Vash, isn't it? [ Come on, friend. Shall they head out? Wolfwood -- both Wolfwoods, apparently -- are waiting for them, and Vash only has so much longer he can keep himself together.. ] The name is yours, if you'd like it.
[ He reaches up and gives a lock of his hair a tug, the mirror of the way Wolfwood did just a few minutes earlier, out in the street. ]
I guess I can't be Blondie anymore either!
[ It looks like hers though, doesn't it? Finally at the end of his run, he looks like her. Could he take her name, call himself Saverem? Has he earned that name yet?
...In his heart, he has to admit that the answer is no. ]
I guess that just leaves the Stampede.
[ A whirlwind of destruction, for a little while longer. ]
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[ Vash breathes out softly. ]
I wish I knew where all the Dependents are. I think they are what called us here, and they must have had a reason.
[ He is not quite expecting Wolfwood to be awake, but he is looking inside the common area all the same. ]
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He gave a soft groan, pulling his arm away from the bottle that was tucked into the crook of him, turning his head to blink out at the bar around him in absolutely bewilderment.]
Wh-...'sat...? N'le-Nogg'n...? [His head rolled again, coming to rest with his chin on the table as he squinted up towards the stairs from underneath the disarrayed mess of his hair.
At least most of the bottles stacked on the table near his head had been left unopened. But the fact that they were there at all spoke to an unrealized intent to make use of them, regardless of their current state.]
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Now it's just charming.
The very drunk man at the bar downstairs blinks blearily up at them, and Vash amends that to mostly charming. ]
You started without me?
[ What he needs are food and sleep, but what's here, now, are Wolfwood and alcohol. Clearly this is what the universe wants for him in this moment, and who is he to argue with the universe? ]
You'd better have saved me some!
[ He just has to keep his feet under him long enough to get to that barstool, and then he can stop moving for awhile. No problem. ]
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He blinked slightly between the two of them, his stomach twisting slightly with concern, but.. at least there was no talk of anyone leaving alone. He breathed out softly, motioning at the other Vash to take a seat, before going to dig out for something NOT alcoholic - for Wolfwood, he needed some hydration. And something resembling utensils. He still had some cans of food in the coat pockets, so he just. Set two of those in front of each of the other two. Sleep would hopefully come in a bit, but they both needed to eat. Vash especially. ]
Both of you, have something besides the alcohol. Please?
[ He settled down, offering the utensils also, then pulled one leg up so he could hug it against himself. He wasn't reaching towards alcohol. He wasn't reaching towards food, either. In all fairness, he wasn't the one who'd gotten exhausted every possible way. ]
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He looked between the two of them, down at the bottles on the table around him as if he'd forgotten they were there and then back up, only to have the white of the bandages around Vash's arm catch his eye. There hadn't been enough time for the memories to fade even with the large amount of whiskey now flowing through his bloodstream, he hadn't even really had a proper chance to figure out what to do with everything that he had seen, and it all came rolling through his brain like syrup.]
Uh...uh...here...here y'go. [He reached up to grab one of the bottles and held it up for Vash to take about the same time he remembered the last time they'd had a drink, and suddenly he felt like he was going to be sick. It only made it worse when Nico's Vash plunked a can of green beans and potatoes down in front of him, expecting him to eat, and he could feel himself turning a little green. He fought it back, swallowing hard and closing his eyes as he worked on taking deep, steadying breaths, until he had managed to finally settle himself enough that he could open his eyes again.]
M'okay. Not very hungry. You can have it. [He tried to ignore the way his leg looked as he hugged it against his chest made him look like an anxious bundle of nerves, instead turning to look around at the windows before a bewildered look crossed his face.] How-...how long was I out...? Looks early. Why's it so early?
[Vash should be sleeping, he needed rest after the day he'd had. He looked back at the bandages on his arm, his eyes darting away again an instant later, wanting to ask if he was ok, wanting to apologize for pushing him too hard earlier and being the reason he'd been driven so far he wanted to rip himself apart. And yet he felt the words wedge themselves in his chest like a stone. He'd tried to apologize earlier, it had gone horribly. He'd tried to act normal, again, with horrible results. He'd even thought for a little moment that it was alright, to let himself accept the hold he couldn't stop wanting, the way he'd started realizing was a thing he could get away with, where the other Vash was involved. And it had all blown up in his face so hard.
So what did he say? He suddenly felt like he'd stepped over a line so far, he didn't know how to make it back, felt like he was floundering. Why couldn't he just be normal again?
Admittedly, it may have been something to do with the copious amounts of alcohol, but there wasn't much he could do about that until he had metabolized it out of his system, and he may have had a high tolerance for the stuff, but it was still going to take some time. Don't say stupid things. Shut up. So he just sat, those words repeating in his head like a mantra so he couldn't fuck things up even worse than he'd done already.]
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But that's not a choice he gets to make, so! Vash first, then Wolfwood.
Silly smile firmly plastered across his face as reminder to himself to keep his shit together – the others won't believe that dumb grin for a moment, but it's not for them – Vash reaches out and takes Wolfwood's hand in his own, threading their fingers together securely before turning to Vash with a nod. ]
Thanks for the meal!
[ Beneath the words, he sends gratitude/family/support, bare emotions rather than words, the way he usually speaks with the plants in their bulbs. With Knives, it's always words, usually after being pulled into his gate to have a talk, and it's never a pleasant experience. With the other plants, though, communication is easy, dream-like, honest feelings passed back and forth like a caress. Whoever is in the ground back in the orphanage, whatever secrets they're going to go dig up, it's not going to be easy on any of them. He's not sure he'd have the patience to wait here if it was his Wolfwood potentially buried in another man's grave. He's not sure he'd be able to be this calm.
Still holding Wolfwood's hand, Vash grabs the fork and digs in to the can of vegetables like it's the tastiest thing on the planet. His stomach revolts almost immediately, but he's had more than a century's practice at ignoring his body's complaints, and right now he needs the fuel. Once he gets half the can down his throat, he'll chase it with whatever's left in that bottle. ]
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