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

[mercifullyheavy]

It was easier when he didn't have to think, and finally getting to be behind the wheel of his wonderful old motorcycle after so long certainly helped him turn his brain off for a while. Though the fact that without the sidecar, it meant that Vash had to ride pillion against his back made things...just a little harder to let his mind drift. Which was, all things considered, maybe a good thing in the end. It meant that when the small village appeared over the horizon, he was aware enough to notice it, and enough to change course so that they could make a stop.

What wasn't pleasant about it was the smell as they got closer, and the sudden realization that all around them, in the streets, hanging out of windows, draped over the banisters on porches, were bodies. Piles of them. And by the look of them, they'd been here a while.

"Shit."

He'd just wanted to make a pit stop, check for supplies, refill the tank. But now, he didn't think it was such a good idea, especially knowing how this was going to effect the man behind him. They absolutely did not have the time or energy it would take to bury all of these people, and Vash had a hard enough time with one dead body, let alone...this.

So he very nearly rode through and didn't stop. At least, not until he caught sight of the small figure in the middle of the square, chained down to a piece of ship debris, looking distinctly less decayed than the rest of the bodies and making a flash of memory lance through his brain like a gunshot to the head.

He skidded the bike to a stop on the edge of the square, barely breathing as he stared at the small, frail-looking form for far too long. The hair, that arm.

"Oh, fuck. God, no, fuck, no, you...you gotta be fuckin' kidding me..."

He didn't even care to drop the kickstand as he climbed off the bike, his lungs drawing in ragged, almost panicked breaths despite the stench of decay in the air, and while he didn't run towards the young man - no, he was barely more than a child - it was a near thing.

"Hey, hey. You...are you awake? God, please tell me you're alive, fuck!"

[mercifullyheavy]

The almost-laugh got a bit of a start out of him, and he looked down at him, his eyebrows lifting up toward his hairline as he did so. Not that Vash wasn't prone to strange emotional reactions - he'd seen them enough times to know it was just par for the course - but there was something about the laugh that made him feel it wasn't exactly the same as him laughing when he didn't mean to. It sounded too genuine, even as aborted as it was, and that...was a little confusing.

But he could tell, watching him as he was, that his strength was finally beginning to wane, so he chose to save the confusion for later pondering and simpy shifted so that he could gently wrap his arm around him and give him something to lean on as he began to sag. he could still reach the sidearm tucked inside of his jacket if he needed to, this was fine.

He half expected to have to catch him as he dropped right off to sleep as he stood there, but then the questions came, and even before he could decide how best to answer the question of where they were going, he was asking about...someone, and Wolfwood's brow furrowed in bewilderment.

"Is who ok, Vash? Who are you worried about?" Because they could see Blondie in the distance, safe and sound, so it wasn't him.