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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[he's happy to be using his hands to do some creation instead of just wanton destruction, of ruin. even if all this'll be ruined from the storm, eventually. so he's content to have something to do, to be useful.]

A sandstorm? Yeah, plenty. It sure sucked ass....

[the company then was also bad]

What about you?

[ Stampede starts talking again, and Wolfwood turns on his heel with a brutal crunch of gravel, body moving of its own accord. He doesn't punch the man -- he sure means to, when he raises his hand, but instead he goes with a shove instead, a palm strike in all but name, right to the center of Stampede's chest. ]

Do you want me to hit you? Is that what this is? Is this some kind of bullshit penance you're doing, makin' me mad enough to knock you down so you can feel all sad and righteous?

[ It didn't kill me, but I wanted it to. Wolfwood leans in closer, hissing right in Stampede's face, close enough to bite. ]

I already killed one of you, and one was enough. You missed your chance, so shut the fuck up.

[ It's really a good thing he doesn't have a gun right now. This walk would take a lot longer if one of them had a couple bullets in their leg. They hurt you too, like he's the victim here. Like he's not the one causing all this pain. ]

Edited 2023-07-10 05:15 (UTC)

[ Helping save both their lives is pretty useful! Here, if Livio can hold the door up over the window, Wolfwood can get the nails sunk into the window frame. Good thing these are proper synth wood doors and not that hollow core shit, huh? ]

Just once. Little ones all the time, but a big one like this? Just once.

[ He aligns the next nail, and hammers it home with three wall-rattling blows. ]

I tried to hunker down in a sand dune like they taught us, but that didn't do a damn thing. Damn wind shredded the hell out of my shirt.

[ And the flesh under it, but that's all in a day's work, right? ]

This one's bigger, I think.

[it feels bigger. more...something. maybe this is what animals feel before there's some sort of disaster.

he can't shake it off. but he'll work, hauling and aligning and holding]

Mmm. Glad the one you were in wasn't worse for you. I didn't have any supplies in mine, but I didn't get too hurt, either.

[ Wolfwood just nods at that -- good. Even though Livio can heal, it's still no fun getting hurt in the first place, right? ]

Hey, how's that work, anyway? Healing without using a vial of that shit.

[ Just a couple more nails, and this door will be nice and secure. Outside, through the other, uncovered window, the sky is the color of a fresh bruise, and Wolfwood's pretty sure he's seeing heat lightning in there. It's gonna be bad. ]

Is it automatic, or do you have to make it work?

[ And then, just a second later: ]

Tell me to fuck off if you don't want to talk about it, okay?

[he doesn't find the questions invasive or annoying or anything. just the memories aren't great, but Wolfwood's curiosity isn't a bad thing to Livio. so the big man shrugs, hoping this place doesn't catch fire]

It's automatic. I don't gotta think about it or anything. Uh, whatever they did during, made it so I didn't need 'em unless it gets real bad, real fast.

[ No, the memories aren't great. But Wolfwood's gonna do his best to never ever ask anything that wakes up a memory. Stuff about here, now, that's safe enough... he hopes. ]

I've got to say, that's a neat trick. I wouldn't mind...

[ But his voice trails off as the view outside the uncovered window grabs his full attention. The storm's on them now, the wind screaming over every nook and cranny in the walls outside and the canyon beyond. But that's not what's got Wolfwood staring like a fool out the window.

There's water on the glass. Drops of water.

Without looking away, he beckons Livio over. ]

Hey. Hey, c'mere, are you seeing this?

[ Is that rain? ]

[Livio would would, for Wolfwood. his body is big and tough and he can take a lot of punishment, but Wolfwood doesn't deserve that. it isn't worth it if Livio can't protect anyone. and he feels he can't.

he starts at the sound-- the pattering, rapidly growing louder, atop the roof]

....Rain? Seriously?

OH NO! WHY GOD, WHY!? WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIS TORTURE!? [He shouts in an effort of be heard over the singing.] THIS IS SO MEAN! STOP! PLEASE! MERCY, MERCY, MERCY!

[Vash can be surprisingly sturdy when he wants to be, for all of his clumsiness. When Wolfwood stalks over and shoves him instead of hitting him, he barely shifted back a step, and continued to stand well within arms reach.

Despite that, and the awkward smile still lingering around the edges of his face, he simply shook his head.]

No. But I dislike seeing good people hurting even more than being hit. I've been hit plenty of times. [And by Wolfwood a great many of those, no less.] I just want you to know the truth. I know it may not help much, but...maybe one day, it'll help you learn to forgive yourself.

[The smile faded a bit, to an expression that was probably a bit more appropriate for the subject at hand. He really wasn't trying to look smug, Nicholas, even if it might look that way if he wasn't used to a Vash who had trouble emoting properly.]

I know how much guilt can break you down. You don't deserve to carry that around on your shoulders.

[ Wolfwood doesn't talk about his feelings. His anger is a whirlwind that picks him up and sweeps him through anyone unlucky enough to be in his path, but that's not a feeling -- that's just who he is, and he doesn't talk about that, either. But all this shit, about guilt and grief and forgiveness? These aren't things that, even when he has the words to describe them, he doesn't talk about.

He doesn't talk about the Eye, not really. He doesn't talk about how they wanted to reform his mind and not just his body, how every other 'graduate' of their program comes out thinking in lock step with the high priests. How a big part of the training was being told what to think, about what topics, and overwriting his own experiences and feelings with those deemed correct. His body doesn't hurt -- he can keep going. He doesn't pity the man in his sights -- that's just a body, just a target. Millions Knives isn't a psychopath with a pet mad scientist -- he's the savior of humanity.

The things he's seen, the things he's experienced, the things he knows, the way he knows the back of his hand -- the Eye rewrote them, erased them, denied them. Corrected them. Now the back of his hand isn't the same anymore, now his heart is a stone, but his mind still works. He knows what he did, and Vash doesn't get to take that from him.

But even if he had the words for all that, Wolfwood doesn't talk about his feelings. His lip curls back, baring his teeth in what nobody in their right mind would ever call a grin, and he jabs Stampede in the chest once more, with a single finger. ]

I see why he kept his distance from you.

[ Ha! Wolfwood draws in a deep breath for the next verse, but the rest of that stupid hymn is all about the white angel coming and killing everyone -- phrased as joyfully as the church can manage, but that's still the message. Suddenly this whole joke is a lot less funny.

So instead, he just snorts, and smirks, and cracks his knuckles loud as gunshot. ]

You want mercy, call a priest.

[ It sure looks like rain! But that's not possible, is it? ]

That can't be real.

[ There's got to be another explanation -- a water tank exploded, or... or something. Wolfwood's heading for the kitchen door before he realizes it -- he's got to see this for himself!

The wind roars into the kitchen when he flings the door open, but it's not at dangerous levels yet -- eye stinging, but not enough to knock a man over. And even though it's dark as hell, there's no way to miss the rain being whipped through the air by that wind -- it's coming down in sheets, icy needles that have Wolfwood shivering almost immediately. But he's not going back inside yet, because this? ]

...It's a miracle.

[Unfortunately for Wolfwood, Nick had already caved enough to tell him at least some of what the Eye had done to him. Enough that everything had made an even deeper, even more disturbing level of sense. And had absolutely infuriated him, all things considered, though he'd had bigger worries to deal with, at the time.

But it meant he knew; about the experiments, the horrible tortures they'd inflicted on their victims. He had watched how Livio had to be broken free of that indoctrination at the end of the barrel of a rocket launcher and the force of Wolfwood's bare fists.

All of that? Made it even more certain in his mind that the two of them had never been to blame for the things they'd been made to do. In a lot of ways, he blamed himself more than he blamed them; He was partly responsible for all of the awful things his brother had done, and the Eye of Michael was one of his. So in the end, Vash was partially responsible for what they had been put through.

But he doubted that little bit of inwardly-directed hate would help his case any, so he didn't put that to words.

The jab of the finger and those accusatory words confused him for a brief moment, his brow furrowing as he looked down at that hand. And then he realized who he meant, and...he simply sighed, and smiled just a little wider, this time genuinely. It was a little easier to keep from internalizing the little verbal blows he tried to wound him with, now that he knew where his pain was coming from. And the fact that in the end, Wolfwood hadn't kept his distance, not really, blunted the insult's teeth even more.

Sorry, Wolfwood. He had now seen your delicate underbelly, and it was going to be harder to get under his skin, this time.]

Hey, come on, you don't appreciate my charming personality?

[He wasn't here to fight you, sir. He would get under your skin all day, but he really didn't want to hurt him, so he chose to refrain from slinging insults at him. He'd said his piece.]

[ That smile is confusing as all hell, and for a moment the confusion is written all over Wolfwood's face. Who grins like that when faced with the threat of the kind of violence Stampede knows he's capable of? He's already beat the asshole to the ground once today, so why's he grinning like that?

Is it because he's trying to get a rise of of Wolfwood? Has all this bullshit about guilt and blame just been Stampede here needling his way into getting a reaction? Wolfwood's been saying this whole time that he's not like the dead version of himself, but he's been treating this asshole like he's a Vash, like there's something the same in all of them. But maybe he's been wrong about that.

Maybe this guy's just cruel in a way Wolfwood hasn't encountered before in somebody with his face. ]

Oh, Needles... [ His chuckle is icy cold. ] What am I gonna do with you?

[ He can't kill him -- he could kill him, probably. Maybe. But he's already responsible for the death of one of these bastards, and for reasons he doesn't want to dig too deeply into right now, he doesn't really want the blood of a second idiot on his hands. He can't beat the asshole into pulp -- apparently Needles here is into that. He can't leave him behind -- they both need to keep heading for the nearest town before they run out of water and die out here, and he's not mad enough to sacrifice himself just to hurt somebody else.

No, they're stuck together for now, until they hit town. After that? Well, he'd better not see this guy again.

Wolfwood -- no, the Punisher -- glares daggers at Needles a moment longer, then turns on his heel and, once again, starts off on the path again. But this time, as he turns, he leans over and scoops up a a couple walnut-sized stones. They'll give him something to fidget with on the walk, and give Needles a surprise if he feels the need to keep talking. ]

[The confusion he saw on Nicholas' face was...unexpected, and confusing for him, his smile dropping to a bewildered, questioning stare. What was that for?

Had he been doing the face-thing, again? Not reacting the way he should? Maybe. Shit. Great. As if he wasn't uncomfortable for the man to deal with as it was. He gave a little shrug at the question, as if it wasn't a thinly-veiled threat, the bewildered look lingering.]

I dunno. If you figure it out, lemme know. I, uh...don't really know what to do with myself half the time, either, if I'm being completely honest.

[The look on his face morphed into, surprisingly enough, something of a wounded expression as he watched him turn and snatch a could of stones off the ground on the way out. It was a real expression, not something he was doing for an affectation. That glare, an unspoken threat if he ever saw one, and the obvious action of arming himself with the one thing that had set Vash off not long before were completely impossible to misinterpret, and something about that obviously upset him as he slowly began following after him.]

Hey, I meant it earlier, alright? Hit me if you want, but...just leave the...stoning for scared townsfolk. Please.

[He was probably asking too much, after the obvious frustration he'd put Wolfwood through. He wasn't there, he didn't have the very unhappy memmories attached to the event now rolling around in his head, and he might have even argued that it wasn't much different than Vash poking at emotional wounds the way he had.

Part of him wanted to argue even before it had started that it was different. The other part of him figured it was about exactly what he deserved, as much as the idea was already making him visibly cringe.]

[ He doesn't want to get pelted with stones, huh? Wolfwood pockets most of the rocks, but keeps one in hand, tossing it up and down to make sure Needles here sees it. ]

You gonna keep telling me who I am? [ Toss, and catch. Toss, and catch. ] What I've done, like you were there instead of me, and how I'm supposed to feel about all that shit?

[ A higher toss, and a catch with a satisfying smack against his palm. This rock's got a bit of weight to it. ]

Because you sure couldn't hear me when I was just using words. Can you hear me now?

[he pads after Wolfwood, surprisingly quiet, and the wind is chilly, the rain is-- wow.

Wow. his eyes are wide, mouth agape]

The only one I'd ever believe in, seeing it myself.

[ It's unbelievable! Wolfwood tips his head back, opening his mouth to the rain. It's cool and fresh, and so clean -- for a kid from the sticks, it's maybe the cleanest water he's ever tasted. He wants to run in it, take his shirt off and let it soak into his skin, let it wash all the dust and blood and everything else away and...

...oh, shit, they should be saving this. ]

Buckets! [ His loafers slip in the mud as he runs back inside, laughing like a kid. ] We need buckets, pots, pans, anything!

[ With how the wind is howling, any water they save will be full of silt, but that's nothing new. Silt can be settled out, filtered through a rag, hell, they can leave it in and use the water for washing up. There's just so much water. He's never seen this much water before! ]

[without another word it's back to the kitchen with them-- and under the sink, and in a cabinet by the collapsed stove, there are some rusty pots, a couple of pans, something that still has a little old food in--]

Buckets...maybe in that closet by the basement door?

[maybe he was a little scared of that closet as a kid-- the thought blooms to his mind at this moment. he'd forgotten]

Watch out for monsters.

[ Gross pans, rusty pans, grab 'em all! They can boil it clean or use it for washing, that's a problem for later! For now, they need to save every drop that they can. Hell, where's the big washtub? He'll go find that after he gets the buckets in the closet.

The closet with the monsters. ]

Ha! Crybaby, don't tell me you're still scared of ghosts?

[ It is a big dark closet at the top of the stairs, really a small room rather than a closet, deep and creaky and full of wispy worm larvae silk, and old tools, and big shrouded shapes. His Livio had been terrified of it -- that's where the monsters lived.

Now they're the monsters. But the memory, and the similarities between this Livio and his Livio, are warming the hell out of Wolfwood's cold stone heart. Who would have thought that being kidnapped by a bunch of plants into a world with too many Vashes would be the best thing that ever happened to him? ]

I'm not gonna hold your hand if you need to piss later, I'm telling you that right now!

[he isn't afraid anymore. the scariest thing is the face in the mirror that he faces every day. the feeling of unease lingers, though-- at least in that closet you could always hear the other kids outside-- here, it's silent. just the two of them]

That wasn't me, that was Andre!

[a little defensive]

[He opened his mouth, wanting to argue that he hadn't been trying to tell him who he was, he wasn't trying to tell him his feelings weren't valid, just that he might not have all of the important information, and he hated seeing him hurting over things that were out of his control, but...he stopped. Closed his mouth again and just stared at him before his face fell to something a bit sadder but also resigned.

He sighed, his gaze dropping to watch the path in front of his feet and gave what mostly came off as a full-body shrug. Arguing with him was just going to make things worse. The Nicholas back home had slowly begun learning not to blow up quite so violently at him over time, but he'd still been just as prone to violent outbursts, in the beginning. He shouldn't have been surprised.

Even if that was, again, comparing this man to the other. In his defense, the similarities were still clear as daylight if one knew what to look for, and his brain was just trying to latch onto what was familiar, what was safe, when the entire situation was more than a little uncomfortable, for both parties.]

I just hate to see people hurting. Doesn't matter who it is, I just feel the need to help. It's how I've always been.

[It helped make it feel like he wasn't completely useless, like his existence wasn't an unnecessary burden and danger on everyone and everything around him. If he could just help people be a bit happier, then maybe that would make things a little bit better, right?

But he doubted Wolfwood cared to listen to his reasons, and with him already ready to start flinging rocks, the less words said, the better.]

Well fucking stop it.

[ I need to help, he says, like that excuses anything. It's just another way to say that he thinks his way is the right one, and everyone else is wrong and needs to be fixed. It's the same line of bullshit Wolfwood's been hearing all his life, only worse -- the Eye didn't pretend to care about him when they told him what to think and how to act. Their violence was honest -- they were remaking him to be a servant and soldier of the new world.

Needles, though? Who knows why he's doing any of this. Is it arrogance? Stupidity? Wolfwood doesn't know, and honestly doesn't care. ]

You're bad at it.

[ All he knows is that it's really getting under his skin. He doesn't have the time or the inclination to give a shit about anybody, and he's even less interested in anyone giving a shit about him. ]

[ That was Andre! Wolfwood's grin over his shoulder is, for once, genuinely delighted. Their worlds really were similar, weren't they? After some of the shit he's seen, some of the weird fucking versions of people he knows, having Livio here is just, well. Nice. ]

Oh, okay, I must have just imagined a little white-haired brat snuffling at me about the monsters in the hallway.

[ Aha! Buckets! A whole stack of 'em, sturdy 5-gallons in a pile at the back of the storage space. ]

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Page 8 of 21

Somewhere between July and December

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