nomans_land | Somewhere between July and December

Somewhere between July and December

1.
[ It wasn't the fastest car he'd ever driven, but it made better time than the old man's shitty station wagon had, and it was definitely faster than walking across the desert. None of the maps he'd found tucked under the seat had Hopeland on them, which was worrisome as all hell, but on one of the maps there was an orphanage marked, just off of a city called December.

The ghost he'd talked to on that mountaintop had told him he'd die in December, but that ghost had also ruined his last cigarette, so fuck that guy. If he died, he died, but first, he was going to make sure Miss Melanie and the kids were okay.

The sedan hums its way across the desert, kicking up a dust cloud that can be seen for miles. ]

2.
[ With a shudder and a hard jolt, the car comes screeching to a halt, the dash going dead as the engine seizes up. Wolfwood swears, punches the dash, then swears again when the solid dash nearly breaks his hand for his trouble. He'd managed to get the car hotwired, but apparently cars in this messed up version of Noman's were more different from the ones he knew than he'd realized. Is it out of oil? Out of charge? Not like he can do anything about it, whatever the problem.

Please ignore the man in black, standing next to a very dead car in the middle of absolute nowhere and screaming at the sky. It's therapeutic profanity, and it really is helping. ]

3.
[ Sunburned and exhausted, Wolfwood crests the hill and finally, there before him, sees the building that his map identifies as the December Orphanage. Even from a distance it's clear that the chaos that's affected the rest of the planet hit here, too -- there's clear bullet holes in at least one side of the building, walls that have collapsed, and the whole place seems as deserted as everywhere else he's been.

But he's here now, so he might as well have a look around.

He really wishes he still had his Punisher, though. ]

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They just met, and the idiot's trying to give away his entire pocket full of rations, isn't it? Absolutely pathological.

"You really can't help it, can you?" At least this one didn't have his mom nearby for extra guilt, Wolfwood thought to himself, and nearly had to choke down the laugh that bubbles up. Apparently crazy was contagious! He shook is head, if it wasn't clear already -- he didn't need your food, Red. He needed his damn car to work!

"The last one of you I ran into here chased me across half the desert tryin' to protect me from getting sunburned." Falling over himself to offer help was bad enough, but the refusal to even look at him was really starting to piss Wolfwood off. Was this a version of the Stampede from the same place as that ghost Wolfwood he'd met? Did he think Wolfwood was dead?

"Oi, look at me when you're talkin' to me, will ya?"

[he

gapes]

What do you mean--

[so whereever there's a Wolfwood, there's a Livio too. that fills him with-- joy-sorrow, horror-warmth.]

I dunno how else to-- to prove it to you. I'm me. Livio. [and, hesitantly, but then fondly]

Crybaby Livio...

[ Part of him wants to shout about how that's not possible, about how Crybaby Livio shot himself in the head because of everything the Eye had made him do. But that cold, rational part of him knows that, just like he's not the Wolfwood in that grave, there can be another Livio. A huge, tattooed Livio, apparently.

He would murder for a cigarette right about now. ]

Heh. [ Crybaby Livio, all grown up and bulked up! He can't fucking believe it. ] You look pretty good, for a dead guy.

[well, he's recognized at least. that almost makes him wanna cry-- but as always, what Wolfwood says is like a punch in the gut]

Wh-what do you mean?

[wow if I'm dead and you're dead then who's driving]

The look that settled on his face at the scolding, at the familiarity, was strangely emotionless as he felt the truth slam down on him, undeniable no matter how much he wanted it to be a mistake. He kept the rations held out for him, but as the seconds stretched on, his hand slowly lowered until it hung limply at his side. And still he couldn't look at him, and he found he couldn't answer, his hand reaching up to rub at an ache behind his brow before sliding under his sunglasses to cover his eyes.

The growing detachment he'd felt only moments ago settled in fully, leaving him feeling completely unmoored. He tried to form the words to reply, and even though he covered part of his face, it was probably obvious by the way his jaw was working around short, wordless humming noises that he was trying, but they refused to come out, as if he couldn't physically make his mouth work. But, small mercies, if he couldn't talk, then technically he didn't have to look at him, right?

Because now, the image of Wolfwood slumped on that couch, eyes staring unseeingly and lips faintly smiling before the rigor mortis had set in was filling his brain. The sight of his body laying in that hole as he began shoveling in handfulls of sand, watching as he slowly, slowly disappeared from the world. And it was too much, to be able to turn and look up at him and see him standing there, alive, even if he were different, even if it wasn't technically the same man.

Finally, after far too long of a silence, he took in a deep breath and blew it out slowly before straightening his sunglasses and looking over, forcing himself to look at him, even as much as it made him feel like he might be sick, and smiled.

"Yeah, sorry." His voice was thready, but at least it was something. "Might've been able to remember how to fix it, if it was your bike, but then you wouldn't need my help."

That motorcycle had broken down so many times over the time they'd travelled together, and he'd sat and watched Wolfwood working on it enough times that he'd started to pick up some of the process on his own, even though he'd never done the repairs himself.

[ Hold on, he'll get there, he just needs a second. Now that he's pretty sure the big guy -- Livio, it's fucking Livio -- isn't going to rush him, Wolfwood lets his combative stance relax, rubbing a hand over his face to try and clear his thoughts. Don't mind the cleaver, pal -- nothing personal. This is just Noman's -- everyone's ready for a fight here. ]

Your Wolfwood, the one you knew. He's the guy in that grave, right? [ This is so messed up. This is worse than a thousand Stampedes, worse than a million tiny Knives. ] The Livio I knew is dead too. Guess that makes us survivors.

[ The way he says 'survivors', though, sure sounds like he means something else. 'Losers', maybe. ]

Don't suppose he left a pack of smokes behind?

If he'd been a kinder man, Wolfwood would have asked. What horrible thing happened to get Stampede so torn up like this? How long had he been out here in the sands on his own -- on foot, apparently? How old was he, for his hair to be dark like a dead plant, and did that mean the same thing for a plant that was able to walk around as it did for the ones who lived their whole lives in their bulbs? How long since he'd had somebody looking after him?

But he wasn't a kind man. All his kindness and compassion had been bled out on an operating table by his man's brother, or a version of him, anyway.

"That wasn't me." The words come out every bit as harshly as he intended them. The planet's empty of human life as far as the eye can see except for a never-ending flood of Vash the Stampedes, and they all wanted to tell him who he was. He was getting sick of it. "I never had a bike, you're thinkin' of somebody else."

With the car dead, and neither of them knowing how to fix it, that meant he was on foot again, didn't it? Fuck. It would take him days to walk to December from here, and more than a day to go back the way he'd come, tail tucked between his legs. Neither option sounded promising, but only one sounded survivable.

He was never going to hear the end of this from Blondie, was he?

Reading Wolfwood had never been quite this hard, not before he'd shut himself off so he wouldn't hurt people like he had when things had gone weird. But maybe it was the differences. Either way, the smile on his face dropped at the harshness in his tone, and he swallowed around a lump in his throat. If it had been Nicholas, his Nicholas, that snark would have felt...different. Wouldn't it? He was used to the attitude, to the anger and snappish grumbling. But it didn't feel the same, now.

And for the life of him, he couldn't tell if something in himself had changed, or if it was this Wolfwood, if he was just...too different. From a version of reality where they hadn't meant anything to one another. Where...where maybe...maybe he had been able to see Vash for the monster he was and gotten out before it was too late.

Maybe he would be ok.

The thought was enough to make a small sob catch in his throat at the same time he found himself smiling again, and he almost caught it before it could fully escape, but not quite. He gave a short, jerky nod, trying to disguise the sound with a soft laugh, and then he was turning, reaching back into his bag. He began pulling things out - the last of his money, another packet of toma meat, a tin of tindercloth and camping fuel. He had...he had something to light it with, too, right? It was useless without something-...? He patted his pockets, looked around the sand as if he might have dropped something, patted the chest of his coat where the inner breast pocket lay-...

Oh.

No. He shook his head, his hand trembling when he pressed it against the lighter he kept tucked there, safe next to his heart. Not that. He couldn't leave that.

"Sorry, I know. You're not him. I knew you were...different...when I saw you. I just-...nevermind. I'm sorry." Instead of the lighter, he reached back into his bag as his voice rattled softly, unsteadily, rambling mindlessly as he pulled out the packet of nuts and raisins he'd looted from a little general store and put it on top of the wrapped toma meat.

And then he turned back to him again, looked at him like he'd told him to. Took a moment to take in his features, but then shook his head because it was different, he was different, and he was afraid to look at him too long, to overwrite the image of the man in his head with this man's face, a thought that made a look of actual fear cross his eyes before he forced another smile onto his face and gave a shaky wave.

"Be safe. Take care of yourself, ok?" He shoved away from the car, leaving the pile of supplies for him as a parting gift and forcing himself to take long strides away, put distance between himself and the man who might have enough sense to keep himself safe, live the life he deserved.

"G-...G'bye." It caught in his throat painfully, but he was able to force it out as he passed him by, his entire body shaking like a leaf in a dust storm.

That right there? That was a man who wasn't going to live long. Wolfwood didn't even bother to spare a glance at the pile of shit, piled up on the hood of the car like an offering in front of a grave, and instead stormed right out after the dumbass, grabbing his arm when in range.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going, huh?" Just because he wasn't this asshole's dead friend or whatever didn't mean he wanted to watch the idiot wander off into the sands to die, come the fuck on. "Go pick up your shit. You're gonna need it."

Guess what, Red? You're now Wolfwood's guide. "I need an escort to the nearest town, and lucky you, looks like you're it."

Oh, there were days when he hoped, and...wouldn't it have been a fitting way to go? Giving his last supplies so that another Wolfwood could keep living in their place? But no, he hadn't been disconnected from himself enough to give up everything, so it hadn't felt like any sort of a big deal at all. Just giving him what he thought would help him get where he needed to go, and walking out of his life again so he could be safe.

But then he was grabbed from behind, spun to face him again, and his heart jumped into his throat, the shock enough that he twisted his arm out of the hold and blocked the grabbing arm away with his other, moving on pure instinct before his brain caught back up to what had happened. Even after he had realized there wasn't a blow following the grab, though, the words confused him, and he stood, staring with wide eyes before it sank in.

Oh. Ok. Ok, yeah. That...that was...he felt his heart clench painfully in his chest, but it was a bittersweet pain. Message received, loud and clear, even if this man couldn't admit to it. And he didn't have the heart to call him out for it, for this simple concern hidden behind anger and bluster to keep himself safe, so he simply nodded, smiling sadly and shuffling back to begin collecting the supplies and tuck them carefully back into his duffel bag.

"If you insist." He murmured out, his voice at least sounding a little less ragged. "I gotta warn you, though; I haven't exactly been the best traveling companion, lately. I tend to cry at the stupidest shit."

Like now, when he reached up to wipe the tears off of his face while his back was still turned to him, and try as he might, he couldn't stop the sharp hiccup in his chest when his body tried to force out another soft sob. Because it hurt, it hurt so much, and he knew that every second he was around him was going to feel like he was being flayed alive.

But...he was alive. For the first time since the entire exchange had started, a part of him felt like at least in some way, the man he cared about was alive again, even if it wasn't the same, even if their meeting would only last long enough for him to make sure he made it safely to another town. That was fine, he could accept that, just knowing that he was out there, safe and sound.

He cinched up his bag once all the supplies were back inside, taking a moment to lift his face to the sky with closed eyes and whisper a silent "Thank you" to whoever had been listening, to whoever had decided to let him have this one last meeting before they parted ways. And then he looked back down, glancing around for Wolfwood's belongings.

"Where's your Punisher?" He'd expected to see it in the back seat of the car, but no, he suddenly realized it was nowhere to be seen. He turned to glance back at him, curiosity on his face.

At least his instincts weren't entirely shot to shit after whatever happened. Wolfwood stepped back when his grab was blocked, giving Stampede room -- he wasn't interested in a fight, for so many reasons -- and he kept a wary eye on the man when he nodded and headed back to the car to retrieve all his belongings.

If he started crying at stupid shit, Wolfwood decided right then and there, he was going to find himself with something to cry about. He'd already had to put up with days and days of travel with one version of this guy who shut down, starved himself, stared longingly at people but then pulled away when approached, and like hell was he going to deal with any of that plus tears. Tears made you a target -- anger kept you alive.

Whatever he was looking around in the car for, he wouldn't find it -- there wasn't anything in there but some trash left over from the previous owner, a pile of maps, and the dust of however many miles it was between wherever Blondie's mom's house had been and wherever they were now.

No Punisher, either.

"The Eye took it back." No reason to keep his employment a secret at this point, right? Even the idiot he'd been tasked to escort had sussed him out right away. "No contract, no gun. That's why I'm stickin' with you, for now." Being unarmed on Noman's was a death wish on a good day, and this? Was not a good day. "Assuming you've got bullets in there?"

[When the End comes people spend their time praying, fighting, or having a good time. Midvalley can take advantage of at least some of that, and leave that first one to people like Wolfwood.

There's a looong silence when earth ships are mentioned. Wasn't Knives cutting satellites out of orbit? Was that why? Earth was a dream, a lost point of origin and nearly a myth at best. Ships though, ships meant..]

Huh.

[Could the people from Earth, with all the advantages of a pre-crash civilization, rein in the lethal risk of the likes of the twins?]

That's good news, if they can keep themselves from getting shot. Maybe we can get off this dustball. Leave it to the plants if they want it so bad.

[this is all a lot....Nico is here, in the ground, but here before him...and he's here, but another one is dead.

his mouth twists.]

I-- are you sure he's dead?

[smokes, though, uh--]

I think someone else took 'em. Sometimes, I-- [he trails off]

[Look. In this Vash's defense, he could have sworn the sandworms lived on the OTHER side of the path. If he knew wams were now in the area he wouldn't have tried to take that short cut.

Regardless of who's fault it was ~~it's Vash's own fault~~ as Wolfwood is driving there is suddenly a large cloud of sand that rises just off to the side. So long as he keeps driving in the direction he's already going in he'll miss the sandworm. Surely that guy running and screaming just ahead of it clad in a long red coat with mostly blond hair styled up like a broom with a bit of black hair around the back of his neck will be okay, right?

Right?]

[ Getting away from Knives sounds like a brilliant plan. No matter how bad things are on Earth, or here but under the rule of the Earth forces, it'll be better than being stranded on this dry rock without any plants to keep them all watered and fed. No Knives means no Eye, too, doesn't it? Without their god's support, without being able to hold the promise of resources over the heads of the poor folks starving out in the sands, the Eye wouldn't have any leverage.

They'd still have their tech, though, Wolfwood knows, and the army they'd built. Folks who were too monstrous, too brainwashed, or too otherwise damaged to return to the world, and that is going to be a fight. He can't imagine the Earth forces will want to work with a local cult, and the Eye won't give up what little they've got left without a fight.

Might be worth sticking around, just to help clear them out. A little vengeance is good for the soul, right? ]

You think they'd take everyone? A couple million new mouths to feed, whose only skills are rootin' around in the trash and killing each other?

[ Nobody's that charitable. There might be a couple folks whose skills, or wealth, will be enough to buy them a ticket off-planet, but the rest of them are still going to die in the dust, aren't they? Maybe they'll live longer, eat better, see their kids grow up, but if the Earth fleet is here to bring everyone back to the homeworld, Wolfwood will eat both his shoes. ]

The best I'm hopin' for is a handout, maybe a couple new wells.

[ He waves off the request as soon as it's clear that the answer is 'no'. Cigarettes was a long shot, he gets it. Even if the dead asshole did have some, they no doubt went into the ground with him, and it'd take a lot more than a craving for a smoke for him to dig up a corpse. Especially that corpse.

That Punisher, on the other hand... ]

I'll spare you the details, but yeah. The Livio I knew, he's gone.

[ Nobody's going to do anything stupid if he slowly circles around on the other side of that grave from Livio to take a look at the Punisher, right? ]

This thing still work, d'you know?

[ He'll miss hitting it, maybe. No way he'll miss the giant dust cloud of hungry dirt monster, or the screaming idiot in the far too familiar red coat fleeing before it. ]

Oh you've got to be fucking kidding me!

[ He yanks the wheel around before he's even done cursing every iteration of Vash that was ever born, and a couple more that he makes up just so he can be mad at them. The car doesn't accelerate nearly as well as he'd like, tires slipping on the sand, but he's not just going to sit here and watch somebody get turned into worm food! If Stampede dies, Wolfwood gets to kill him -- he's fucking earned it.

The car rumbles across the sand on an intercept course, heading right for the blond moron. When he's close enough, Wolfwood leans his head out the window to shout at the top of his lungs: ]

Grab on, dumbass!

[he doesn't answer that instead sometimes he gets the same brand for himself. that the ones he had left, that Wolfwood had left, went to Vash.

Livio hums.]

Not to bring up uh, something painful. But did you...see him, after?

[he starts at the reminder oh yeah, the Punisher]

It should. It's been a little unsed here, but..

[ Unused, huh? It looks like it's seen better days, but they take damage -- it's part of the point of carrying a weapon that big. It's offensive and defensive, which would explain the bullet holes and scorch marks... and the dark stains of what he's pretty sure are blood, in the creases.

Good thing he's not superstitious. ]

You mean, did I go kick his corpse after he shot himself in the head and fell off the side of a sand steamer? [ It's hard to tell just what kind of firepower a Punisher has without opening it up and putting it through its paces, but he's pretty sure this one doesn't have the laser the old one did. That's a shame. He liked the laser. ] No, I was a little busy at the time, sorry to disappoint.

[ Hopefully this model doesn't have any kind of safety lock or thumbprint access, or this is gonna be a real short reunion. ]

[Livio has the decency to flinch at the thought of-- shooting himself in the head. being that desperate--

he's been there. but, hesitantly,]

Then he's still alive. I am.

[and then a little more boldly]

Let his Punisher stay here.

Good wormie!! Nice wormie!!! Please don't eat me! Please don't eat me worm! I probably taste terrible! [Vash cries and screams as his legs run as fast as they can carry him.

He sees a dust cloud up ahead and... crap, is that another worm? No, that's... that's a car?! What kind of dumb ass would be--

--oh, it's Wolfwood! He can't currently remember a time he's been more thrilled to see the preacher man as he sprints towards the oncoming car. With a leap of his long legs he grabs onto the open window and quickly picks his feet up so they're not dragging.] DRIVE! DRIVE! DRIVE! DRIVE! [He screams while hanging on for dear life. He'll work on getting into the car in a moment or two.]

[ He is not leaving the Punisher here, sorry. He's going to examine it before pulling it out of the dirt, but he needs a weapon, and the dead guy doesn't. ]

You shoot yourself in the head a lot, pal? That sounds like something you want to talk to somebody about.

[ The grip looks fine, so let's see how heavy this thing is! ]

[ He's driving, he's driving! Hopefully Stampede is holding on tight, because this car is doing a hard turn out of the path of that worm, and back onto the relative safety of the bedrock road he just came from. The wheels on the driver's side are definitely not touching the ground there for a couple seconds as he peels out, but it doesn't roll over so no harm done. ]

What the hell are you doing out in the sand, you idiot!?

[ Even the bedrock of the road might not be enough to keep them safe from a hungry enough worm. Once those tires get traction on that stone, Wolfwood's flooring it, fishtailing the ass end of the car as he struggles to keep it pointed toward safety. ]

If I get eaten I'm gonna fucking kill you!

Don't--

[Livio finally approaches, arm outstretched--]

I don't shoot myself-- but I know if that's all that happened, he's still alive. After what was done...

The shock on his face when he spun was unmistakable, but the actual color of the expression after his hands flew up to cover his mouth was a bit harder to discern. He stood there for a long stretch of time, and he looked like he might be smiling behind his fingers, but it wasn't long before tears were rolling down his face, and at the same time, there was obvious disbelief in his eyes.

"They-...they just...they let you go???"

Oh yeah, there was that sob that he kept trying to choke back, but he was laughing, too. He buried his face in his hands, leaning against the bumper of the car behind him as he tried to give himself a moment to deal with the turmoil of emotions he was feeling, but he at least had enough control of himself to nod at the question about bullets, of all things.

He was ok, he was going to be ok, the Eye had let him go and that meant he would be safe! That was maybe the best news he had heard in...in a long, long time, and for once, he was crying out of pure relief, absolute joy, even if this man wasn't the same one he'd lost, even if they never crossed paths again after going their separate ways, he was free of the Eye!

After he'd had a moment to let himself feel what he was feeling, he finally managed to collect himself, wiping his face as dry as it was going to get as he stood up from the car and grinned up at Wolfwood, a wide, genuine expression like he hadn't shown for a long time.

"Oh yeah, I've got bullets, don't worry! Still don't like killing people with them, so you'll have to take what you can get!"

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Page 2 of 21

Somewhere between July and December

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