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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
Except there was this much younger, healthier version of his brother. Foolish and full of dreams not yet completely brought to ruin, likely to run into trouble sooner rather than later. And so he's kept a bit of attention out, a cautious feeler extended just in case; the brother that shared a timeline with him would never call out, but this one .. this one very well might, out of loneliness or fear, or running afoul of the Terrans or more. It's a good thing he is, it seems, by the strained call that he picks up on eventually.
Not Vash's pain. 'She'. Who is she? Why is he so afraid for her?
You're not a bother yet. Are you safe? Who is 'she'?
no subject
But then that might be one of a great many.
So Knives can now see the cocoon of wings. And then the dark wing wrapping the torn-apart remains of a girl. She wouldn't be alive at all had she not been a plant. But she is, and she looks so small against the dark wing and the red coat.
no subject
He knows the wasteland. There were parts of the world he hadn't been to, of course, but the likelihood of Vash being in any such place bereft of humanity was slim, and plants - that could only be what Vash was dealing with - inevitably wound up close to humans. An injured plant. No, several, that's not one being.
He'd been in a similar state, more than once. He wouldn't have survived it if he weren't a plant either, but that didn't mean that small shape would be able to last without assistance. Knives would likely ignore it were this a human child, or claim to be too far away. But his own kind?
no subject
And he does.
The location might or might not be relatively close to where ship Five fell, way back when.
Back then, when we read the files, that the parts of her were still alive, I didn't imagine...
That he would get to meet her. To hold her.
no subject
It has a menacing undercurrent to it. Whoever had caused this had better not be there when he turned up, or there'd be even more blood in the sand.
Ask the other sisters, gently, if they might enshroud her til I arrive. Dull her pain, but do not remove it entirely, it will be too easy for a mind to let go without something to ground with.
Knives doesn't fly anymore, he doesn't have the energy to spare. But what he does have is a terrible, bloodthirsty reputation, and a town with a working vehicle in it.
Or well, the town ... had a working vehicle in it. And one less gun now as well. He misses it at first, the addition of files, of parts and the horror that came with it, his focus elsewhere.
Nerve cells are not clever, convince them that what she's feeling is not real and transpose your own sensations over hers. Whatever aches you endure will be a lesser thing than her own. Imagine it as ... layering one drawing over another, perhaps. We will need aid of the others there to heal her safely, if they are willing.
Safely. There was no 'safely' for anyone who spent too much power healing another, but he could guess there were a plant or two in that tumble of feathers, and a burden shared was one that would be less dangerous. He'd asked only one plant to bear the brunt of that, and she hadn't made it another decade afterward to his regret. And then burning out nearly all of his own power to do it again later.. But ... why would Vash call what looked to be a mutilated young Independent, an older--
(back then, when we read the files)
Tessla.
From the south, some distant sense of wrath rises. Not the screaming rage that had led Vash to Tessla to begin with, not the pain and fury of the moment. This is old, bitter and smoldering, like banked coals stirred to new sparks of flame long after the original fire had gone out. It doesn't enter into the sound of the distant echo of his mind's voice, which is the terribly precise calm of careful control, but there's no mistaking its source regardless.
You must keep her awake above all else. If she does not, she may not wake again.
no subject
But Knives.
Please. Please calm down.
I barely persuaded her to let me talk to you to help her. She is terrified. And knives - blades - frighten her. With good reason, of course.
Be gentle. Please.
God. Did he make a mistake? But Knives would at least know... but if he hurts her more...
no subject
Humanity deserved everything they got, as far as Knives was concerned. More plants that understood that on a deep level was a good thing.
I will not willingly bring harm her, or them. I have no use for blades in this situation regardless, unless the scientists who maimed her also happen to be present, in which case tell them to start running and pray to whatever pitiful god they worship that I don't catch up to them.
But if she is in the same state as we saw her, back then, we will need more than you to repair the damage. You alone will mean your death, for the power needed to heal a life requires a life.
There's a certain grim finality to it - he's not exaggerating by his own experiences. But he's going to put this rusty machine to its limits to get where he's going a little faster, because his brother is foolish as he is kind.
While I know you would make such a sacrifice, it is not necessary. And I'll say that again because it's you: it's NOT necessary. If they cannot help, or will not, then it will be enough to stabilize her and bring her to those that will. The more hands the better. I can unfortunately only be a guide for stronger hands.
no subject
But it matters to Vash.
There is nobody here but her and me and the sisters. The ghost of Wolfwood was here, but I think he went elsewhere to rest, he was trying very hard to protect me, and the material world is not what he does best, not this one. Beat. This is separate from the Wolfwood I was talking about before!
Not for any other reason than to avoid distracting Knives from what needs to be done with any, unlikely as it might be, concern about Vash himself. He's fine. (He's not fine, but that's beside the point. He's not broken by that loss. Yet.)
And yes, all that babble is to distract himself from trying to object to the truth he 'hears' in Knives' words. A life for a life.
Except... his life would not be enough to restore a dying bulb plant. Barely, but not enough. Or he would have been gone long before now.
UselessUselessUselessUselessI'm sorry. That he can't do it himself. Because even with the 'it's not necessary', this is what he feels. I'm doing my best... to not let any of it get any worse.
no subject
He knew how to control his temper. He couldn't stop feeling, never could, but he could obscure it easily enough. Pretend his hatred and loathing didn't still exist, eye the masses of humanity with something approaching neutrality.
There is ... something, a bubbling of mirth perhaps, at the idea of a ghost of Wolfwood, but no actual comment on that part.
Even I in my prime would not have been able to mend that kind of damage without paying dearly for it. That's how I got where I am now, and why I know we need greater numbers than one.
He wants to ask, but doesn't, if she even wants to be saved. That kind of pain, from what they did to her alone, and then the blood in the sand.. her suffering must be terrible. Hadn't she suffered enough? Would it be kinder to heal her, or gently end her anguish?
Vash.. Vash wouldn't be able to. He'd have to steel himself for it personally, then.
no subject
I was not expecting you to do it! But you know more about our powers than I do.
She says that the sisters here will help.
The worst part is that Vash is also bracing himself for it. But unless Tessla herself wants it, he will fight against anyone who tries.
no subject
It was a comparison, nobody alone could manage.
It'll be alright.
There's confidence in that, the steadiness of someone who surely knows what he's talking about. One way or another, it WOULD be alright.
I've dealt with this sort of injury before. It can be healed.
The more calm and reassured Vash was, the more that reassurance will pass on to Tessla. He can't see them from where he is, but if he kept pushing this rustbucket to its limits, it wouldn't be long. Couldn't be long.
no subject
But...
For her, he will give all the calm he has. Knives need not worry too much about part, but he'll have to reach them to find out.
Once it is all said and done...
He will probably be a mess, honestly. But he can keep going until he can allow himself to break.
Thank you, Knives.
no subject
Knives has to try to avoid driving into any unexpected rocks, which are absolutely EVERYWHERE. But he'll get where he's going as quickly as possible.
Soon.