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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
I hope so. He'd been having a hard time even before I met 'im, and it got a little easier since then, yeah, but [Things were still hard, and he was still outliving everyone he met, and Wolfwood knew it weighed on him.]...I know he's still tired. I want 'im to be happy.
[What little comfort he felt at the reassurances, though, chilled a bit at the question about why they'd been brought together. He hadn't had a chance to get news from the parts of the planet that were populated. He had no idea what was going on. He hadn't thought about the fact that all of this might have been a sign that things were going tits-up all over again. It wasn't a pleasant thought, now that it had.]
What use would whoever is responsible for this have with me, though? What's the point? [But then the concern that had flared up sputtered to a stop at Vash's question, and he blinked at him, bewildered for a moment before he laughed, still confused, but...well, even if he never would have expected him to just come out and ask like that, it was so like the man he knew, to immediately start looking for something to fix even in a situation that was impossible to fix. It was, honestly, kind of adorable. More open, maybe, than the man back home, and with how much younger he was, he was suddenly hit with a wave of affection.]
Need? Oh, Güerito, I don't need anything. Kind've...beyond that, you know? But I'm fine, really. Thank you. You don't have to worry about me. Just...gotta find him again. Whatever happens after that? [He shrugged, and then when he remembered it wouldn't come across in his voice, made a sort of noncommittal sound to convey the gesture instead.] It's outta my hands, really. I'm just here for the ride.
no subject
So a reunion, even beyond it all, would be a relief on its own; a reunion with Wolfwood...
Well. He'd said what he'd said.
The words of the concern, and even the affection, made him smile, but thoughtful, too. ]
I... am not sure that the things we knew before are still valid here. Being brought to a different place and time is something I would not have possible, and yet here we are. So perhaps there is something that you alone can do, here.
As to needing... I can't know, can I? But also, you exist. Even if you physically don't need things, that doesn't mean that you as a person don't.
But I was asking like. You know. Everyone needs something to keep them going. Food, or plant source stuff... I've not known ghosts before, so I've no idea what keeps you going?
no subject
But then Vash's insistence on finding something to help him with, reframing it the way he did, took what had been the beginnings of a tiny paradigm shift and tossed it right over the edge. If he didn't mean physical things, then what? Emotional? Spiritual, no pun intended? Was there anything he had ever..."needed?"
He was quiet for a long while, and if Vash had been able to see him, he would have looked absolutely bewildered, as if he were struggling to understand a big, important concept that had never occurred to him. Instead, he struggled with the realization that...the concept made perfect sense, of course it did. People needed things. Food, water, rest, companionship.
But the thought of applying that concept to himself, now that he was actively thinking on it, was...foreign. And the part of him that knew it should have been a simple thing suddenly felt a little anxiety over the fact that something he thought must have been a thing he'd pondered plenty enough times before was now ephemeral and just out of reach.]
I don't...I don't know. [His voice was soft, confused, and he was too stuck in his own head to notice the very slight touch of anxiety that tinted his words.] I don't need sleep, I can't eat. I just...am. In the early days, sometimes I would try to interact with people in ways that made me feel tired, but it's different than needing to sleep. [Though the act of resting for him wasn't necessarily too unlike taking a nap, only without losing consciousness. But that was quibbling over details.] I guess I haven't thought about it in...a long, long time.
[What could he possibly want? To find his partner, to know he was safe. But Vash had mentioned that already, it wasn't what he meant. Vague feelings, things he remembered wishing he could have again tickled at the back of his mind, long-forgotten and laid to rest, now that they weren't needed and were impossible to have. He...he wanted...
Companionship? Again, that was Vash. The sound of his voice, the closeness of the man he'd spent endless hours speaking to, even if the words never reached him, the man he gravitated towards like a flying worm to an incandescent light.
Again, not helpful.
He wanted...he missed...
Touch. The feeling of skin touching his. A handshake. The weight of an arm around his shoulders. The feeling of fingers grabbing him by the hair and yanking him around in a little half-hearted display of irritation at some little argument that had seemed so important at the time. He couldn't even remember what it had been about, now.
It was all beyond his reach, now. He could..."touch" things, insomuch as he could focus enough to exert a bit of force against them, but it was different. Like the pressure given off by a little jolt of static electricity; it could be felt, but it wasn't tangible. He hadn't felt actual touch in...
.......]
I don't know. But it's fine. Sometimes things just...change...on this side, when you're not...physical, anymore. It's hard to explain. [And he suspected that putting voice to the one answer he'd been able to come up with would have been upsetting for Vash. It wasn't something he could change. There was no sense in making him sad because of something so trivial. Nicholas was fine.]