Somewhere.

[whatevermaycome]

[Time's lost its meaning, somewhere in between a cry for help that left his head ringing and the endless sunrises, heat and stench of a town bereft of life but not corpses.

It's been long enough that the smell had attracted flying worms to the feast, darting in and out of homes once full of life to gorge themselves on the available meat, the slow but steady breeze carrying it for iles. Sooner or later larger worms would arrive, to feed on the little ones or whatever meat was left, and larger ones after them, but the desert was beginning its relentless claiming of the now mostly barren town, wind and sand scouring the bloodstains from streets and walls bit by bit, and bleaching the red bones left behind in the open by the worms towards ivory. Left alone, the sun and wind would turn them white, but not yet.

Aside from the worms, the only other thing more or less intact in the town is a blond haired and filthy lean form tucked in the shadow of a tall metal post, still chained there by the wrist as he had been since the world shook like a snowglobe in the hands of a particularly enthusiastic toddler. He's slumped in an uncomfortably boneless way that at first glance suggests he's as dead as everyone else in this town, a missing arm and red raw stump furthering this idea. Except the actual dismembered arm some short distance away shows obvious evidence of rot and having been chewed on presumably by worms, while the boy, nearly a young man, has no such decay. Just dirt, blood and grime and missing shoes, but he's terribly still, not so much as twitching as a faintly glowing flying worm, still round from its last meal, descends to investigate a new one.

Only once it lands does he suddenly spring to life, twisting like a cat to smash the insect creature against the post with one bare foot just enough to drop it twitching to the ground. A closer look reveals the scattered bits of a number of other worms, a leg here, a wing there - survival necessitated some pretty damn gross stuff, but Vash hasn't made it this long, even as young as he was compared to others, by simply giving up. And feet and toes will do in lieu of the hands he no longer had access to.

Someone would come, eventually. Eventually. He just had to last til then.

At least the taste of worm, dirt and filth was no longer nauseating.]

Comments

[whatevermaycome]

There are no assassins yet. Just rescuers, which meant his brother still cared, in spite of Vash blowing a hole through his shoulder. A pale comfort it might be, but it was still a comfort. In the moment, maybe he'd have killed Knives, just like in the moment he might have outright tried to gut Rem, but afterward.. afterward he'd had plenty of time to think and feel terrible about it. Someone else doing bad things didn't give him the right to do bad things too!

At least the truth of it leads with a reassurance that Knives is in fact, not dead in a cave somewhere. Which made sense because how could he send people to look for Vash if he's dead? And then he's nudged to the bike and sat down, a guidance he allows with the placid ease of someone who's decided fighting isn't worth the effort anymore.

And reality is... frankly it sounds like complete bullshit, even to him, and thinking isn't exactly the easiest thing right now. For a while he does meet Wolfwood's gaze, and there's incredulity there somewhere that any of this could actually be fact and not a very bizarre lie that was so unbelievable as to not be worth speaking. But an actual lie would surely be a lot more likely, wouldn't it?

"...Okay." That really doesn't sound like belief. It doesn't really sound like anything, a dull noise made to satisfy an outside source of confusion as he lets his mind wander and connect facts where it wants. The other man being a plant is .... possible, he supposed, and wouldn't that be something? Vash remains otherwise silent for several long, long minutes, weary gaze unblinking on Wolfwood .. or his goggles, somewhere in that general vicinity. He doesn't even move much beyond shallow surface breaths. The man in red got the qualifier of 'plant', which was fine. THIS guy.. was carrying around a gun that weighed more than he did, and broke his metal shackles with what seemed like minimal effort, things humans simply can't do. After a time, a brief light flickers to life in the back of his eyes and he leans forward, voice quiet and utterly serious.

Any question? Any at all? Now might not be the best time to allow that, with the rest slowly processing at approximately the speed of glaciers retreating.

"Are you an alien?"

[mercifullyheavy]

Yeah, no, he wasn't surprised in the least at the skeptical look he was getting during the explanation. it was honestly par for the course and he would have probably been more worried if he had believed him.

What he wasn't expecting was for that to even be within the realm of questions he was going to ask him, and there was a brief moment when Nick almost laughed out loud, catching it with a snort and trying to hide it behind his fist before it was able to fully come out.

Don't laugh, Nick, don't laugh, kids hate it when you laugh at their questions! Holy Shit, though, that was both the dumbest and somehow Vashiest of questions, and it was so hard not to crack right the Hell up. It was also a bit ironic, given the things he knew, and he couldn't help the very small smirk that settled on his face when he was finally able to regain his composure and pulled his hand away.

Oh, he could tease him so hard right now. And if circumstances were different, he would have pounced at the chance. But no, don't mock the kid, he's not the adult, he doesn't know Wolfwood the way the other two do, it would be harder for him to discern between outright meanness and playful teasing, especially with his head all scrambled from shock.

Still.........

"No, I'm not an alien. I was born and raised on this planet, never been anywhere else in all my twe-...er..." He stopped for a moment, blinking in suddenly bewildered, dawning almost-horror. "Twenty...something years?"

Sure, he didn't technically know his actual age, no, but he was pretty sure the last time he'd thought about it had been before December, and his best estimate then had been Twentymumblesix? Maybe seven? Ish?

Good Lord, he might be thirty years old, now, and he did not know how to feel about that.

He shook the stupor off of his face and gave a small laugh before getting himself back on track and turning a little smirk over at him.

"If we're being technical, I think you'd be the one who counts as an alien. You came from one of the Earth ships, right? Still, I think as long as you've spent here, you're as good as native, anyway." Honestly, even with his absurd adherence to his Love and Peace philosophy, you couldn't get much more No Man's Lander than Vash the Stampede, if you asked Wolfwood.