VASH 🌱 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
procreation) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
nomans_land2023-06-11 10:37 pm
procreation) wrote in nomans_land2023-06-11 10:37 pm
Tragic Ends VS Bad Ends, Trigun Flavor
CW: mildly Plantcesty bc of canon end events but mostly toxicity, mindfuck, extreme codependency and.... co-parenting?
Somewhere in the sands is a tall person traveling on bare feet, a cloak of galaxies and roots covering their face from the sun. Vash moves slowly, not because he's tired or struggling, but because he's not really in a hurry. He doesn't get tired anymore, or hungry. Just weak, sometimes, but he's always been weak, hasn't he? That's why his brother has to protect him.
So this place couldn't be bad, because Knives would never leave him somewhere bad.
He stops briefly to collect a bleached skull left in the sand, picking it up with the roots and wisps of shadow and then holding it with the curiosity of a detached scholar rather than a compassionate man. Human, by the looks of it. Not killed by one of their brood, just unlucky in the desert.
Shrugging, Vash lets it drop into the sand again like an unwanted piece of trash and lets all those roots and glimmering energy unfold around him. He makes a little seat for himself, black flowers with shiny blue specks acting as cushions as the rest of his cloak peels away for a canopy. The dark undersuit is an echo of his brother, including the sturdiness of four perfectly fine limbs.
No memories were left, physical or otherwise. Sometimes you just have to remake your little brother to make him understand your point of view, and Vash... doesn't really know any better, anymore. It's fine, all he needs to focus on is making new Independents.
The roots continue to stretch over the sand, slithering over the area to see if they can pick up anything other than old bones of a doomed race.
Somewhere in the sands is a tall person traveling on bare feet, a cloak of galaxies and roots covering their face from the sun. Vash moves slowly, not because he's tired or struggling, but because he's not really in a hurry. He doesn't get tired anymore, or hungry. Just weak, sometimes, but he's always been weak, hasn't he? That's why his brother has to protect him.
So this place couldn't be bad, because Knives would never leave him somewhere bad.
He stops briefly to collect a bleached skull left in the sand, picking it up with the roots and wisps of shadow and then holding it with the curiosity of a detached scholar rather than a compassionate man. Human, by the looks of it. Not killed by one of their brood, just unlucky in the desert.
Shrugging, Vash lets it drop into the sand again like an unwanted piece of trash and lets all those roots and glimmering energy unfold around him. He makes a little seat for himself, black flowers with shiny blue specks acting as cushions as the rest of his cloak peels away for a canopy. The dark undersuit is an echo of his brother, including the sturdiness of four perfectly fine limbs.
No memories were left, physical or otherwise. Sometimes you just have to remake your little brother to make him understand your point of view, and Vash... doesn't really know any better, anymore. It's fine, all he needs to focus on is making new Independents.
The roots continue to stretch over the sand, slithering over the area to see if they can pick up anything other than old bones of a doomed race.
no subject
Shit.
The ghost in the backseat drops his voice, murmuring secrets in the broken Vash's ear, but Wolfwood's Eye-improved hearing picks up every word clear as day. He died protecting children, huh? So that's what happened in December, why everyone he talked to was terrified of him going there? This Wolfwood's a hero. This Wolfwood's who Blondie thinks he is.
They're all in for a surprise, aren't they? Turns out there's more than one monster in this car.
Thorns tries to mock him for his death, as though being taken apart in mere seconds was something he could have fought against. It's the argument of a cornered animal, Wolfwood knows -- Thorns could attack them with his powers, but he's using his words instead. It must be that he's afraid to fight, worried for his children being caught up as collateral damage. And he should be afraid.
The dead Wolfwood and Blondie here might not be willing to kill kids, but Wolfwood's damn good assassin training removed his ability to care about things like that.
His mind is racing. Vash's gate was in his arm -- he'd said something like that earlier, right? How Millions Knives years ago cut his arm off to stop his gate from blowing up, or something like that? What if they cut of Thorns's arm?
It's a thought he'll hold on to for later. ]
Sounds like you can't keep 'em safe either, if a dog with a car can ruin your day. [ He's tempted to continue with a quip about how disappointed Nai must be, but Blondie shouldn't have to keep hearing about that. He shouldn't have to hear any of this. ] You're all alone here, asshole, You want help for your armful of spawn or what?
no subject
He would be sad, but not shocked. Not disappointed. Vash himself hopes that the Independents would find a way to keep the children safe from the damage that their sole present parent could, and probably would, do to them.
And the number of children is staggering. Vash's stomach is heaving, and he does his best to ignore it. ]
People are not dogs, nor any other kind of animal, just as the bulbed sisters are not, they are each their own person. [ Quiet but still firm. ] And their wills are their own. I do not command them, nor do I expect obedience. I can ask. They can choose to do or not. Or to tell me to fuck off. [ Oh, look, he said the word again. ] I'm glad that you are going to a place where you won't have a reason to think those around you inferior.
[ It'll be good for the other Vash, he thinks, whether he could recognize that or not. ]
And yes, they have agreed to take you in.