Somewhere between July and December

[louboutinjudas]

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. ]

Comments

oh shit that would have been hilarious

[louboutinjudas]

[ He considers parking the car a ways out and hiking in, to keep his escape route more secret, but screw it -- there's nobody here anyway. The whole planet is deserted, seems like, so why not pull right up to the front of that blasted out building?

Besides. This isn't the kind of bad news he wants to creep up on.

The building isn't the same as the Hopeland he knows, but it's close enough. Even as he's running for the front door he's taking in the details: large caliber bullets there, a rocket or grenade exploded against that wall, something big impacted over there and left a crater the size of a person... there was a fight here, and it was a bad one. A really bad one. ]

Anyone here?

[ He kicks the door open, squinting through the dust that raises into the darkness beyond. The damage isn't as bad in here, he's relieved to note. It's a mess, but it's stuff, books and blankets and toys scattered about, not shell casings. Not bodies. There's no blood, and that's both a relief and a source of an even deeper dread -- if there's no bodies here, then where did all the kids go? ]

Melanie!

[graveresemblance]

[oh, and that's a voice. the cadence of it is familiar, the tone, but the voice itself isn't...he doesn't think so. but still, Livio doesn't feel like he can move, matter of fact it's like there's glue beneath him.

but he does weakly call out--]

Here. Someone-- I'm here!

[louboutinjudas]

[ He honestly wasn't expecting any response, to the man's voice that calls out startles him badly, hand flying to his hip where he still doesn't have a gun. Fuck!

He doesn't reply -- he's not that stupid! -- instead padding quietly through the rest of the building toward the back, where the voice came from. This route takes him through the kitchen, and he takes an extra few seconds to help himself to the knife block -- the big cleaver goes in his hand, the long carving knife in the back of his waistband, and the little paring knife fits neatly into his pants pocket, for emergencies. Only then does he head for the door, peering out tentatively before emerging.

There's more rubble out there, more clear evidence of a fight, and there's the man who called out -- a huge guy, sitting next to...

Oh. That's a Punisher, isn't it? That's a grave with a Punisher as a headstone.

Maybe the ghost wasn't full of shit after all.

Keeping the knife down at his side, body angled to hide it from view, Wolfwood steps through the doorway, empty hand raised in cautious greeting. ]

I'm not lookin' for trouble.

[ His heart's pounding a mile a minute though. That's a grave. That's his grave, fuck, what the fuck does he do now?! ]

[graveresemblance]

[the voice isn't too familiar but oh, oh, the face...Livio staggers forward but doesn't fall, doesn't dare brace himself on the Punisher, either, just stares wide eyed at...]

...Nick? Nick...?

[louboutinjudas]

[ And just like that the big guy's coming right at him... and seems to know his name, which is never a good thing. ]

Whoa whoa whoa! [ He steps through the doorway quickly, wanting space to move if he needs to. ] Hold up, I don't know you!

[ The big bastard sure knows him, though. And since he's sitting at what Wolfwood presumes to be the grave of a Wolfwood, then Wolfwood's appearance here has to be a hell of a ghost scare for the guy. ]

I'm not him!

[graveresemblance]

[he finally stops in his tracks, having not even noticed he'd gotten up, hands at his sides]

.....Is your name Nicholas D. Wolfwood?

nooooo i fucked up my small tags

[louboutinjudas]

[ Fuck. He's keeping that cleaver behind him, but only because the guy isn't coming any closer. ]

Yes, but... [ He points to the Punisher, and the stone in front of it. Somebody spent some time chipping out that cross, he can't help but notice. Was it this guy? ] ...I'm not him. I'm a different Wolfwood.

[ Sorry, pal, whoever you are. Please take this news well? ]

Who're you?

its ok its ok!!

[graveresemblance]

[he takes a deep, shuddery breath in. closes his eyes. tries to wipe the last image he has of Wolfwood burned into his eyelids--

opens them]

Yeah. I can see that. I'm...I'm Livio.

[louboutinjudas]

[ It's hard to say which is the bigger shock, really. Being faced with his own grave, or being faced with the idea that the huge man in front of him was supposed to be Livio. ]

No the hell you're not!

[ There's anger, under that incredulity. Impersonate the Stampede as much as you like, but Livio was somebody important, okay. This joke isn't funny anymore. ]

You look nothing like him, for one, so you wanna try that again?

[graveresemblance]

[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...

[louboutinjudas]

[ 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.

[graveresemblance]

[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]

[louboutinjudas]

[ 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?

[graveresemblance]

[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]

[louboutinjudas]

[ 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?

[graveresemblance]

[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..

[louboutinjudas]

[ 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. ]

[graveresemblance]

[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.

[louboutinjudas]

[ 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! ]

[graveresemblance]

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...

[louboutinjudas]

[ He's gonna take the Punisher, sorry! ...Or he was, until Livio starts talking about the Eye. He turns on Livio, snapping mad, because anger will always be a better choice than grief. ]

I don't want to fuckin' hear it! [ I don't want to think about it! ] All the things they did to him, to us, it still didn't make us immortal!

[ He kicks the gravestone at his feet. ]

Exhibit A, this dead guy right here.

[graveresemblance]

[instead of reacting with his own anger, its frustration, and defense--]

It damn near did, Nico. [his throat burns] He died because-- because of me. But they did different stuff to me than him. Or you.

[louboutinjudas]

[ That's all right. Wolfwood has enough anger for both of them. ]

I know that! [ He can't stop his gaze from flicking to the metal cap over Livio's ear, the lines on his face... can't help thinking about the glow behind his Livio's eye, and imagining all the electronics they must have stuffed inside his brain. Only with Livio would his anger sound so much like grief -- only Livio, only somebody who understands, gets to see just how much sorrow and regret he has over what was done to that sweet little kid. ] Don't you think I know that? What they did to him... to you...

[ Fuck. He can't hold still, has to move, to pace, one hand tangled so tightly in his own hair that he's going to rip himself a bald spot if he's not careful. ]

But if he's dead then that's over, so everybody needs to stop saying he's still alive!

[graveresemblance]

[he wants to think maybe they can rest-- all of them, this Nicholas too...but he doesn't think so. Master Chapel would never let him die so easily.

so slowly, slowly, gently-- he saddles up to Wolfwood, and gently takes his wrist away from his head]

Hey. You'll figure it out. If he isn't...or is.

[louboutinjudas]

[ Anyone else would get socked in the teeth for touching him right now. But this close, Wolfwood can't help but compare this Livio's bulk to the little brat he knew, and his mind is filling in all kinds of gaps about how somebody that small could be made this big. ]

I'm gonna kill 'em all.

[ If there's a Livio here, if there was a Wolfwood here, then there's an Eye here. This Stampede hasn't been betrayed yet, the kids aren't at the orphanage, so what's he got left other than revenge?

The grin he turns on Livio is positively feral. ]

Wanna help me hunt down a cult?