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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[Midvalley's really got no intention of getting close to that orphanage again, not with Vash the Stampede theoretically still lurking about like some sort of depressed crimson vulture. Who knows when he'd suddenly decide hell with it and go the way of his brother.

But this isn't the orphanage, and it's not far off the road he was using to get to some other town, where he'd be paid well for a few nights of music. And he can spot a dead car not far off, and some angry shape near it. Ordinarily he wouldn't detour, but these days it sometimes paid off, with people popping in and out, so the musician's own sand scoured vehicle neatly turns off and heads in the direction of Wolfwood. His at least is in better shape, and well stocked in case of ... problems.

And it slows, noticeably, when he's finally close enough to see who that is raging at the luck of shitty vehicles in the middle of nowhere. ...Ah well, in for a penny..

The slow crawl draws to a stop, about ten paces to one side.]

Kind of far from civilization, aren't you?

[ Half the reason for hollering curses at the car, the suns, and the world at large is just to get that anger out of him and into the world where it'll chew up somebody else. The other half, of course, is to lure in anybody who might be drawn to the sounds of a traveler in distress. Even without his Punisher, even without a single gun, he's still confident in his ability to take on pretty much anyone who might see him as an easy mark.

He's halfway expecting Vash to come strolling out of the heat waves on the horizon. Instead, he gets this guy. ]

Hornfreak. [ The way he says it makes the name just one more piece of profanity. Wolfwood squares up to the man as he drives up, one hand behind his back as though he's got a gun in his waistband there. Midvalley here has a car, Wolfwood thinks, his grin feral. Wonder what it'll take to get a ride? ] I heard you died in Julai.

[And this guy has the only vehicle for iles, knows how Wolfwood fights, and doesn't even remotely fear his fellow Gung-Ho Gun. Especially when it's fairly obvious that missile launcher is nowhere to be found; the threat of a pistol in comparison is a joke. The sharp look offered in return is just as full of bared teeth in a parody of a smile. Vash .. he had reason to be frightened of the plant twins. The priest? He's just another human, and he knew how to deal with his "teammates".]

I heard you died a worm's death as a traitor.

[The sardonic tone to the saxophonist's voice is not matched by his expression, he looks terribly amused, and entirely at Wolfwood's expense. This is funny. Of course it also meant that the Stampede was likely to catch wind of it very soon, and then what would become of that pretty little grave in the ruins?]

Makes two of us I guess, but your memory or your geography is shit, it was Lewiston. Get in.

[Midvalley doesn't make moves that he thinks would put his own life on the line unless the other option is somehow worse, but he doesn't see exceptional risk here. Chapel was a killer like all of them, but wasn't exactly another Monev and wasn't about to just go around slaughtering people for funsies. Not even enemies, when the enemy was more useful alive. There's arguing with him of course, or some ridiculous effort at a hold-up, but he doesn't expect he will be, not when anything else would mean walking on foot in this godforsaken desert. He jerks a thumb backwards, expression leveling out. He still had places to be, and it sure as hell wasn't hanging around out here. He'd made his own choice, and it was as calculated as every other one he made.]

There's drinks in the back. Blue bottle's poison, anything else is at your own risk.

[ Any of the other Guns would have driven right on past -- or over -- his stranded self, so is it any wonder he's suspicious right off the bat? Sure, Midvalley here has always had a pretty clear head on his shoulders -- he's not it in for the love of the fight, like Rai-Dei, or a psychopathic killer like some little brats he could name -- but they don't owe each other a thing. So why the sudden compassion for a fellow assassin? ]

Lewiston? That place is a dump, even for you.

[ He's probably not fooling anybody with that hand behind his back as he comes around to the passenger side of the car, but sometimes a bluff is the only option for the hand you're dealt. He'll keep up the pretense as long as he can, sliding that hand down by his leg as he opens the door and climbs into the passenger seat, but let's be real -- if Midvalley wanted him dead, all he had to have done was keep driving. ]

That better not be where we're headed.

[ Because now that he's in Midvalley's car, they're going where Midvalley wants, right? ]

[he hadn't moved from the spot where-- the cross is. was. not since calling and calling until his voice grew hoarse, until he could see no one's here--

until he saw the shape of a couch in the distance.

now he sits, knees in the sand, before the cross and waits for...he doesn't know what he's waiting for. Razlo, naturally, isn't happy to wait, is trying to stir him up to no avail.

he sees dust churning up from...a car? that's a car, that's--]

[ 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!

[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!

Seemed like a good ambush spot at the time.

[Of course he has an ulterior motive and it's one hundred percent selfish, it just happens to also benefit Wolfwood a little too. The only mark at all that the potential of a gun is being minded is the way Midvalley is keeping an eye on his approach. It never hurts to be a little cautious.]

... Nah. I've got no desperate need to see if I was left an epitaph.

[He would get no epitaph, as he already knows. Their line of work left little room for true friends, or family of any kind. That someone lingered after Wolfwood died and seemed to actually care was a surprise enough, but plants were strange, and there was no knowing why Vash did what he did.

But he'll never be returning to Lewiston if he had a say in the matter. The beat up jalopy Wolfwood had been driving before is given one last mildly disgusted look for merely existing as a rusted out piece of crap before the car is put back in gear.]

Stampede claimed Legato and Knives are dead too. I think at this point it's a bad idea to declare anyone dead and gone, death's not sticking. It's just tempting fate at this point. [Knives was a terror, but Legato was a more personal horror he'd prefer dodging for the rest of eternity.] I'm headed to Warrens City, there's two stops on the way you can pick from.

[ 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?! ]

[ Warrens City? That one he doesn't recognize, but he's certainly not going to admit to that. Instead, he settles into that seat with his back half to the door -- it's a somewhat awkward position, but he wants more than a half on eye on Midvalley. ]

You talked to a different one than I did, then.

[ Does Midvalley know there's multiple copies of people here? Has he had that revelation yet? It's a hell of a shock when it happens, to be sure!

Also: there's drinks in the back, sure, but Midvalley hasn't taken up smoking recently, has he? And maybe left his pack on the dash? ]

The Stampede I met earlier swore up and down that Knives was still alive.

[ The punchline, that Wolfwood's been dreading, is that Knives is probably here somewhere... and where Knives goes, his blue-haired dog always follows. Stampede's a pushover, hardly worth the effort, but Knives? Knives would splatter their guts across the desert floor without a second thought.

The further they can get from any independent plant, they longer they'll all live. Assuming, of course, that they're all still alive. This being Hell isn't off the table yet, as far as Wolfwood's concerned. ]

There's other dead folks here, too, people I'm sure are dead. I don't know what the hell is going on, but it's not good.

[Silence. 'A different one'.

There's more than one of---]

Of course there's more of them. Why wouldn't there be.

[He didn't know if it'd be better to laugh or cry.]

Humanity's fucked, even if we're somehow coming back from the dead. One.. maybe we could have challenged one.

[How many of these monsters were out there? Did they just have to hope a couple were benevolent instead of hellbent on erasing their entire species, and that THOSE ones wouldn't change their minds according to some fey rules humanity wasn't privy to?

Midvalley does not smoke, but there's a nonzero chance that somewhere in this vehicle is a pack of cigarettes. SOMEONE he's picked up, dropped off or murdered likely smoked, the odds were in its favor.]

From what I heard in December, something's gone off with time too. Some lady said she was from just after the Fall, and others from decades after now. I don't know what the hell they did, but I'm willing to bet it has to do with those brothers, however many of them there are.

He'd been on his way to Octovern when, from a distant speck on the horizon, he heard the rather obvious sounds of absolutely enraged cursing. And just like every other time he's heard someone in obvious distress, regardless of the fact that he'd been headed in a completely different direction, Vash's feet turn and begin bringing him closer. He can't not.

"Hellooo!" He lifted his arm in greeting before he was too close, plastering the friendliest smile he could on his face, and it wasn't long before he was close enough to finally get a look at the man standing on the other side of the broken down vehicle.

That was, of course, when he felt slow, dawning horror beginning to slide through his veins like ice water.

He swallowed down a lump in his throat, the smile on his face growing strained as he looked the man up and down. Things were...off. Different. Smaller frame, sloppier dress, younger, that ranting voice sounded just slightly off-pitch to the rumbling tenor of the man in his memories.

But as much as there was that was wrong, so much of it wasn't, and when he was close enough to lift his hand in greeting again and didn't have to shout to be heard, the hand not carrying the duffel bag over his shoulder was visibly shaking.

"Hey, friend. Car break down?"

The smile fell almost immediately after he was done speaking, his hand stuffing itself deep in his pocket, and there was a distinct feeling of the world shifting around him that he knew well. The world was twisting around him, his brain beginning to feel as if it were two inches to the left of his body, disconnected and floaty in a way that was usually a precursor to a shut down.

He fought through it for now, forcing himself to stay verbal, even though every word had to be forced out through a throat that was tightening around them. He couldn't...this wasn't...no. No. It wasn't Nicholas. Nicholas was dead. He was dead and gone and had been for months, now, and this was just a man who looked and spoke far too close to him for Vash's own comfort.

"I don't have fuel, if you're out of gas, but maybe I can help if it's a busted engine?"

[ So he didn't know. Well, consider the information payment for the ride. They're even more fucked than they were before, aren't they? None of the cities he's seen so far have any people in them, the only plants are the brothers -- none of which, as far as he knows, can make water, or food, or anything people need to survive on this blasted waste of a world -- and there's at least one ghost haunting the place.

He'll leave that tidbit for later, though. No reason to show his whole hand at once. ]

This lady, in December... don't suppose her name was Rem, was it?

[ He'd met her in July, or what passed for July on this world, but there's no reason the duplicates needed to all be in the same spot, right? ]

He knows, even without turning around, who it is who's going to be standing there behind him. The voice isn't the same, but that stupidly cheerful tone is one he'd know anywhere. Slowly Wolfwood turns, his already angry expression souring even further at the sight of that bullseye target of a red coat.

How many of this asshole are there on this damn planet?!

"You know what?" No greeting, no introductions, just a wave of his hand at the lightly steaming, very dead car behind him. What's the worst that he can do, break it more? Tell Wolfwood good things about himself? Try to hug him? Fucking try it, Red. "Knock yourself out."

Jillian Fasbender. [For a moment, he seems almost reverent.] She has a voice like an angel and swears like a steamer crewman, used to be something called an aeronautics expert. Made two months' pay in two nights with her as lead singer.

[A coincidence, apparently, he's never heard of Rem at all, but that meant there were two people from early in and not just one. The idea of an assassin making good money with music was a ridiculous notion to most, but Midvalley had been a killer second and a musician foremost until Knives changed the rules.

Speaking of.]

A tip for the only other asshole out here who seems to realize how dangerous they all are: Stay out of Octovern. Everyone's saying that's where all the missing plants are, and if they're there, he's going to be there too, or will be headed there, and so will however many brothers he's got now. Place is going to go up like July.

[The only other traitor currently, and also apparently with the good sense to get the hell out of Dodge while the getting is good.

It had never been personal for Midvalley. He'd offer the same to Hoppered.]

[ So it wasn't the same woman. Oh well. It would have been funny as hell to be able to tell the Hornfreak here that he'd been chatting with Millions Knives's dead mother -- there's little enough funny about this situation, okay? He takes his laughs where he can get them.

And in the same category of 'things that are funny'... there's still people out there spending money on concerts? He can't imagine being that kind of stupid, but if folks at the end of the world want to waste what cash they've got left on the busted radiator sounds that Midvalley calls music? Good for him lightening their wallets. A man's got to make a living, after all. ]

It's not just the plants gathering in Octovern, or so I hear. [ Something on the floorboard catches his eye -- is that a pack of Wams? Blessed fucking day -- he'll grab that in a minute, or when Midvalley kicks him out, whichever comes first. Not like he's got a lighter at the moment anyway. ] You're gonna love this. There's ships from Earth in Octovern. They're having a meeting right now, local bigwigs and folks from Earth.

[ If they don't all kill each other, things might really start to get better! That's a big 'if', though. Wolfwood's taking odds on the killing option, personally. ]

[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...?

Edited 2023-06-10 03:52 (UTC)

[ 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!

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

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

He couldn't look at him for very long, even with the subtle differences that should have been enough to make things easier for him to stomach. In the end, it was no different than the way his own reflection in the mirrors of the inns he stayed at had been making him jump out of his skin some nights, making goosebumps roll up and down his arms and ruining his mood for the rest of the evening.

So he just shuffled over to the car, dropping his duffel bag in front of it as he popped the hood over the steaming engine. And...stared.

It wasn't like he was an engineer or a mechanic. He barely knew how to drive the things, let alone how to fix one. But he'd panicked, and now he stood there, staring into the dark void of an engine block that was sputtering and hissing steam at him, feeling more and more disconnected from his own body and trying not to lose his mind over someone he was mentally screaming couldn't possibly be who he thought he was.

But then everything had been so weird since the earthquakes happened. He'd met other versions of himself, ones that didn't quite look the same, either. People disappearing, time changing.

People coming back from the dead over a year after he'd buried them himself.

Before he knew what was happening, he was giving a high, hysterical-sounding laugh, tears rolling down his face, and he hadn't even touched the engine.

"I don't know what I expected, honestly, I've never even worked on a car before, sorry. I don't even drive, I usually just walk or get the bus between towns."

[ 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?

There's something wrong with this Vash, Wolfwood couldn't help but think, as he watched the guy standing there, just absolutely dumbfounded by the car engine. The one he'd met already had been familiar enough -- so nice it made your teeth hurt, and stubborn in a way that made him want to start throwing punches. This one, though?

Vash giggled like a madman, and started apologizing for not having the first clue how cars worked, and Wolfwood felt the rage starting to bloom under one eye. This one was messed up bad. He's seen plenty of what trauma can do to people, more and more often from the inflicting end, and he was pretty sure that whatever happened to this guy, he didn't want it as part of his future.

He was out of cigarettes, so chewing on his thumbnail was the best he can manage to sate that need to wreck something. "Then why'd you offer?" The dumbass could most likely be heard even without having to say it out loud.

[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.

The almost accusatory tone in the question made him laugh again, because laughing was easier than the screaming that wanted to rip its way out of his chest instead, and he shrugged, a manic sort of smile spreading across his face.

"I dunno, you needed help. I couldn't just leave you out here on your own, could I?" He took a moment to scrub his hand down his face before he shook his head and leaned down to reach for his duffel bag. He leaned it against the bumper of the car so that he could open it, digging out his canteen and a bit of dried toma meat wrapped in butcher paper and holding it out. "Least I have some supplies, right? Here. It's not good to go too long without eating."

And still, he couldn't look at him, his eyes cast down at a point in the distant desert behind him.

[ 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?

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Page 1 of 21

Somewhere between July and December

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3 but i really thought about having nick hit him w/the car, it was tough...

oh shit that would have been hilarious

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2 Mwahaha

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nooooo i fucked up my small tags

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its ok its ok!!

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