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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
If it's not okay, we're here, you know. It might be hard for us to find you, you probably get around a lot quicker, but we'll all do what we can.
[That's what they did in other worlds too, not that she knows it. Answering the call of a distressed Independent ... unfortunately, not the one on the side of life in general.
It's carefully put aside; she'll maintain her delicate grip if allowed to, it might be a thin comfort but it's surely better than nothing, better than being alone. There would be other times to press questions about fighting and why it was so fierce it turned him into a veritable poppy, all crimson and black.]
I left New Miami maybe .. two ... years ago? We've never been to Octovern, it's a bit big for me, too many people. You can't learn their faces and needs when there's so many.
[Hanging around a tourist destination for most of her time on this planet had soured her a bit to large metropolises, some loved them, she preferred smaller places. It's followed with a very human nod, just awkward enough that it's clearly a learned gesture over an inherent one.]
The ground shook, and someone ... maybe several plants, were begging for help. I didn't get a good sense of where it came from exactly but I figure if my boy and I keep sharp attention we'll catch a rumor sooner or later. [She rewinds mentally a bit, the echoed-memory of his own earlier words playing back like a recording.] As far as I know, everyone can talk. But humans can't speak like this, so the interface helps with communication. If I was stationary, they could make me a far more detailed one, but this is the best you can get if you want to migrate. It's low energy, but that comes with the cost of precision.
[A button is pushed, resulting in a tinny, artificial "Hello!"]
no subject
No, he wasn't okay, even if he tried to say he was. He hadn't been okay for a very, very long time. But he smiled at her, anyway, brushing his thumb over the little feather that continued to hold his hand.]
I know, sister. I know. You don't know how thankful I am for that fact. [Because in the end, that was what they had done, wasn't it? Yes, they'd come to Knives' aid when they'd felt him crying out for help in the fear and pain that had driven him over the edge, but they had also reached out to Vash, as well, called out to him and for him and the rest of the planet and said under no uncertain terms that they wanted to help him.
He let out a small sigh, pressing his forehead against the bulb, the way he was so used to normally doing when he spoke with one of his sisters, helping support the mental connection with just that much more of a physical one, unconsciously seeking out a little of the comfort she offered, that he had always felt when interacting with one of them, as far back as he could remember.]
So you weren't there with the Ark? Were you never called with the others by my brother? [It was an interesting thought; He knew the Plants in New Miami had been taken. Unless there had been Plants still trapped and hidden in the more isolated crash sites littering the planet, every Plant on No Man's Land had been taken when Knives had waged his warpath. Her story made him sigh again, his eyes shifting to focus on a spot on the horizon through the glass of her bulb even as he nodded awkwardly from where his face was pressed against it.] That was the fight, in Octovern. It was supposed to be over months ago, but then...[He listened "quietly" as she explained the buttons, how it wasn't just her who was able to communicate this way, and his brain began piecing out a theory, his brow furrowing.]
Delphinium...none of the sisters where I'm from can communicate like you can. You're the first I've met like this, and I've met so many. [Images of times he's visited them, sat with them, talking at them, drinking bottles of alcohol to numb his emotions when things hurt the worst, connecting as much as he could to their minds even though there was always a vast chasm between them that kept true communication and connection at a distance. The little, artificial "Hello!" made him stop and give a small laugh, refocusing on her face and giving a tiny wave.]
Hello! [And then, through the thought-voice again,] I think...Mmm... [Easier to show in images, probably, and honestly closer to the way he's used to communicating with his sisters, which makes it a bit more instinctual than what they'd been doing. His fight in Octovern, the sisters calling out, connecting with the humans, their voices crying out for help and urging the humans to seek him out, their Red Brother...
And then the memory of walking the path to visit Wolfwood's grave in December when the other, twinned call had hit and shaken the planet, but it was different and newer than the other memory.
Different calls, different but the same. Meeting a younger version of himself who had just lost Wolfwood and wasn't "all dark", as if it hadn't happened months before, even before the first call, seeing the damage from the fight at the orphanage as if it had just happened. Her stories, of Plants who were able to freely speak with the humans, who could travel and have preferences on where they lived. Things so alike but also different...]
I...don't really know exactly how...we work. Where it comes from. I never used our powers much before... [He gave a tiny shrug.] The Big Fall happened before I was old enough to learn too much about our kind, and the humans had lost a lot of the knowledge by the time I was able to...[Get away from Knives. Be taken in by the residents of Home, cared for, nursed back to health, allowed to begin trying to fit in with the humans again after 80 years of just him and his brother wandering the desert by themselves] I just know it's...dimensional? It's connected to other...places? I think...maybe something happened, the Plants in some other place like ours did something that...
[He didn't know. He wasn't a scientist, even if he had managed to learn a great deal over the years, more than most humans and certainly more than any humans who were the age he looked. He was just throwing the ideas that had begun forming in his mind for the past week out into the void and wondering if any of them stuck.]
Do you think that could happen? Could they have broken through and brought us together? That's why I'm going back to Octovern. If they're still there, maybe they'll know. They reached out once before, they spoke to us once before, maybe we can again! Relocating them back to their proper towns had taken months, and if they did that, if they brought us all together and they're still there, maybe they won't have been moved out yet. I have to know. It was my fault this all happened. If something's broken, I need to fix it.
no subject
No. I've heard rumors, of course, but.. There were two! And he'd called for help as well, and there was an ark.. And the fighting. The fighting had been against this brother.
Plants didn't fight each other. It was an odd thought, one she mulls over carefully. There would of course have to be a dire reason to even consider it. Unspeaking plants, a brother scouring the world for them and saving them in an ark, humanity cowering in terror. It's a dreadful series of images and feelings, horrifying in their own way, and carefully she detatches her own feelings from them so his memories don't blur into her own. It happened to someone else, in another time, not to her, and that tiny fragment of distance is enough to weigh Vash's explanations with the sobriety it deserves.
A second feather sneaks out to join the first. He really has been through it, she'd been right.
Nothing like fighting of the sort to make a plant go dark. The cities I know are as ... at peace as we can make it, with the natives and the climate being what they are. Sometimes there's echos of something going on with our kin in July, but it's so far away I only catch hints. I think the other Independent ones are there too.
Delphinium isn't a scientist either, but she knows how her power works. As she thinks, tiny wings flittering again in consideration. And then she reaches out to the connection to all of her siblings, the undercurrent she'd been used to all her life of thoughts and images and commentary, other plants and other lives - and finds it oddly diminished. There, certainly there, and one or two she recognizes instantly, but .... less than it should be. To them, over vast distances, his questions are posed. And then relayed on to the others further out, and posed again. And again, and again. Where one mind fails, many might have the answers.
As close as he is, Vash may well be able to feel it, the reach, the distant link to nebulous others without being the abstractions he's best used to and took what comfort he could from.
I would teach you, poppy brother, but I'm not sure it would be safe to. You'll lose days with each thing you make. she rests the palm of her lower set of arms on her chin, thoughtful. How to explain what they do, to someone who neever has? But to make it easy, there is this place, the physical. You can touch it, breathe it, bite it if you want. A bullet, or a bun, or a star. And there is a place where the physical is an idea, and energy is everything. A plant stands between them, and we can with a little help of machines, take the idea of a physical thing, take the energy of it, bring it here, and make it a thing. I gather it with my feathers, and shape it with my thoughts. If I don't want to I can make the machine shape it for me.
There is no demonstration, he's surely seen plants make things before. Moving a thing, or a person, from one place to another is just moving energy around again at the root of it. I couldn't do it, but it might be possible if many of us got together and tried on one thing at the same time. But please listen, younger brother.
Delphinium leans close, nose and forehead to the glass, pupilless eyes wide. If our sisters have brought us to this place, at this time, there is a reason they did it. Something was broken, and it's being fixed right now, by us being here. If you find the ones who called, and who managed this, don't ask them to send anyone anywhere yet. We have work to do first. And she was going to have to find herself a nice town to settle down in quicker than expected. In spite of that, she smiles, an almost human gesture except for it having too many teeth and showing the barest edges of her mandibles. It's almost impish. It's a good thing, being here. I will ask those I can reach, and we'll coordinate. Humans have radios but we're better.
no subject
There-...there are no Sisters in July. Or Independents. Not where I'm from. And it took everything in him not to let the memories of that city cloud his mind, the horror of it still too fresh after having them forced back into his head only a little over a year past. He didn't think he'd ever recover from that truth, knowing that all those people he'd cared about, all the people who had been kind and welcoming and loving towards him, were dead and that he had been the one directly responsible for their deaths. But it was still a hard memory to mask, it weighed so heavily on his soul that despite himself, there was a spike of self-loathing that curdled through his mind.
He watched her silently as he felt her reaching out, felt the call go out to the Sisters, but he was sobered, refusing to think about the implications of a July that is still standing when he's still connected to her, and it was taking quite a lot of his concentration. He had learned the hard way, with his other self days past, that he had to be extremely careful with the thoughts he let pass through his mind. He'd been so careless in the past, hadn't stopped to consider what he was capable of, and time and time again, that carelessness had been the source of so much pain and suffering.
When she expressed concern over the thought of teaching him how to use his powers as readily as she could, he shook his head again, glancing up at one of the small tufts of hair in front of his face again in silent acknowledgement. I've never wanted that power, anyway. It's dangerous for me to...be different, where I'm from. Humans are afraid of me when they see that part of me, and...I get people hurt. And he is so, so tired of making people hurt, watching people die, causing trauma and despair and violence everywhere he goes. He wouldn't take the offer even if it he hadn't been stretched thin enough that to do so would almost assuredly cause his death the first time he dared to try.
Even still, her answer confirmed what he'd been thinking, but her reassurances that he should leave it be for the time being so that they could try and fix whatever had been broken this way didn't seem to sooth him any. But what if people are dying? Seperated from their families, never get to go back to their homes? What if more of our Sisters than just you were brought here? What about their homes and the people who needed them? Your little Poppy Brother is, obviously, prone to worrying about every worst possible situation, Delphinium. He may not show it on the outside, most of the time, but his default state of being had long-since become a perpetual chorus of anxieties and worries and fears chanting all of the ways things could go horribly wrong at any given moment inside of his head.
no subject
July is quiet, she acknowledges, not precisely pleased with the information. What happened there? She'd find out ... sooner or later. Now it wasn't very important to do so, there were other matters to attend. But I can reach .. a few. Not as many as there should be. We are in Augusta, November. I don't know this town, but it has a windmill. And ... others, further out, but not like us.
Not the clear sharp minds of alert, sapient creatures. Intelligent in their own way, but different, noticeably different, even across the long relay of minds to reach them. Was communication really that strange here? Who spoke for the voiceless, if they couldn't speak for themselves?
A concern to worry about later as well, when she solidified her reach a little and could discuss better with her kin what was going on and what to do. Humans were prey long before they were hunters, and part of their instincts never forgot it. New things are frightening and dangerous. Her smile is brief and a little sad. But they can adjust, with time. The humans I know are not as afraid of a plant's nature, but they knew us like this from their smallest days.
Vash needed to find humans that were used to the idea, so he didn't have to hide. How could pretending one's whole life be comfortable, or good for the mind and heart?
But what if people WERE dying? Her wings snap closed, and she takes a big breath. Philosophy wasn't her strong suit, but she understood being driven to help. It would make her find somewhere to settle down, sooner or later. They all felt it. And if they are? Life ends, eventually. Even for us. Maybe a sandstorm will come and bury a town, maybe my bulb will break. Maybe. But thinking about it all the time doesn't help. Don't worry about the ones you can't reach, worry about the ones you can. There is enough hardship in life without borrowing more about what we can't hope to affect. There are lives here that can use a friendly hand, and their lives are worth something too. She looks around at the barren emptiness. We can't always help where we're seeded, but we can grow there all the same. There are plenty to help within reach if we look a little.
no subject
There are probably a lot more unlike you than otherwise. And if I'm right about what I think happened with the earthquake, then they're probably all still in Octovern. It's a good distance from here. He smiled, though, happy to hear some of his own thoughts and philosophies whispered back at him through that connection. It was such a relief, to finally speak with one of his own kind and to hear that he wasn't alone in that thinking. That's what I keep hoping for. My brother didn't think that they could change, but I saw it, over and over again. There are so many of them who are good people. It's not their fault they're in such a bad situation.
No, it was his, and it was Knives'. And if he could make up for that even just a little, by making sure they were safe, then maybe it would go a little towards making amends for what had happened. But then her words became...more detached. And he pulled away slightly, disappointment and sadness flickering across his face before he could school his features into something neutral. He glanced away, shaking his head.
I try. Every day, I try. I helped cause this, I helped put them in a place that's so harsh and uncaring and dangerous. If I'd just done better, if I'd been more vigilant, if I hadn't let my brother go rooting through old files where we weren't supposed to be, if I'd just told Rem how far he was spiraling, if I hadn't followed those humans and left him in the desert...! I could have stopped it at so many points! But I didn't, and now they have to live here, where life is so hard, and I just keep trying!
He was spiraling, himself, even as he fought to keep his memories contained. The things she said made sense, logically, but they didn't line up with reality, they couldn't absolve him of his own guilt.
No matter what I do, it seems like people get hurt because of me. Everywhere I go, people die because I couldn't help them, or because someone wants to get to me, and they don't care about the colateral damage! I've been trying for so long, and I'm just so-...!
He grimaced and shut down his own thoughts before he could finish them. He didn't deserve to be tired. He didn't have to worry about surviving as much as the humans did. His body was more resilient, he could handle the hardships, he could take the damage, it was his duty to take those burdens off of them! He didn't get to be tired.
no subject
But it wasn't, and she couldn't change the past. Even people arriving out of time didn't change the past, it only altered the future they found themselves in.
You forgive humanity for the things they've done to us. Even the world I know, we suffer abuses sometimes. It's how it is. But you forgive them, through terrible events and wonderful, through death and life and suffering and misery and hope and joy.
She taps on the glass with one long finger.
So why aren't you forgiving yourself the way you forgive them? Are they incapable of making choices, and you the only one who can?
no subject
Because I could have stopped it. Because I'm not human, I can do so much more than they can, I can help, I can take the abuses! They can be so much better, I know they can! Things are just dangerous for them here, they don't have enough resources to go around and it makes things harder for them, and people don't think right when they're scared or in need. It's not their fault! They just need someone to help guide them, and if I was just better at it, maybe it wouldn't be so hard!
Bit of a messiah complex there, wasn't it? And on some level, a tiny part of him knew that he was taking on more than he could handle. But it was all he knew how to do, when things were so out of control and people were hurting so much. He had to do something, and he was able to do so much more than any human was, even having used up the last of his power.
If he could just help one person, then it helped him feel like he hadn't completely failed them, hadn't failed Rem and Wolfwood's death hadn't been for nothing. And if that person helped another person, and another, if all of those peoples' lives were easier because he'd saved one, then it was worth it, no matter how much it hurt him in the process.
Even if sometimes, he really, really just wished that he could finally just...stop. For good. He just wished that he could finally rest.
no subject
She knows the answer already, but that's not the point of verbalizing it. She wouldn't, she already knew, cut through what felt like over a century of trauma and pain, that would take time.. a lot of time, and perhaps more voices than just her own.
But the impulse to help was hardwired into every plant, wasn't it? What they chose to do with that impulse varied, as was who or what they chose to help..
They can guide themselves, they have since they first walked out of the forests and onto the savannahs. You can do more if you want to, but you can't change what you've already done, or in some cases not done. And those you choose to aid will know your aid comes at the price of this pain you keep inside. Does it help them? It doesn't help you.
You're just one. But there are many plants. We are meant to work together, and share the weight of our work. You haven't been sharing very well, from what I can see.
no subject
But they can't, they can't help, they're defenseless! It's too hard for them to communicate, the humans didn't even think they were people! They're trapped in their minds, they can't interact like you can, people just kept using them up and throwing them away like their lives didn't matter!
The sisters in their bulbs, Tessla, it had all been too much for Knives, had almost been too much for Vash. They had learned the truth too early, and they'd both been driven mad for it, had both been so broken. And he knew he was broken, he did, but what could he do? He curled in on himself against the bulb, his shoulders hunching around his ears and his lean against the glass less open than it had been before, but still pressing close for the connection.
I don't know what else to do! I can't produce anything like I'm supposed to, especially now that I'm all used up, and we're only in this place because my brother was so scared, he saw what was happening to our sisters and he couldn't stand it, it drove him over the edge and I couldn't stop him until it was too late! He just wanted to protect us, but it was too much for him!
And oh, how those thoughts were a poison, looping around and around and directing all of the pain back into himself when it felt like the answers were just right there, if he would only listen to what was being told to him and let go of some of the guilt, but he couldn't.
I don't know what else to do, it's all I've ever known, what good am I if I can't make it right? I can't do anything else
no subject
If you're asking for suggestions on what to do, I can think of a few things.
She'd crack the bulb open if she could, pull him inside - but would he even survive the air she needed? It might be worth finding out. The trouble with independents were their isolation, while she and her kind were stuck in bulbs they at least could reach across the endless width of a world to speak to each other freely. Could those like Vash? Would he ever have the distracting chatter of distant friends rattling around in his mind while he set himself to some task?
After all, you still walk free. Your hands work. Your voice works. Not everything is about mass producing chairs.
no subject
He just wanted to help. It repeated like a broken record inside his head, more emotion than tangible thought-voice-words. Because yes, at the core of him was the instinctual need to ease the burdens of the people around him, to make thier lives easy, make them happy. But even more than that, if they weren't hurting, if their lives were easier, if they came to accept him and learn to love and help each other, than maybe they wouldn't have to hurt his sisters anymore, maybe there wouldn't be a constant, non-zero danger of them realizing he wasn't like they were and wanting to do to him what they'd done to Tessla, maybe life on the planet could just be easier.
I've tried so many times, to help them understand and make things easier for them. But somehow, trouble always finds me and they get hurt in the process, or they just won't listen, and then they bring the trouble, and it's like a neverending cycle.
He was honestly open to suggestions. But also, currently, he was beginning to feel a little exhausted. He reached up to wipe his face, sniffling roughly as fatigue made his emotions a bit harder to latch onto, blunting the edges of his sorrow, the way it always did when he had a big crying jag. It could be a bit of a blessing, when he had gotten himself too wound up, but it also made him tired enough that getting much further down the road was kind of a fool's errand.