nomans_land | In and around Octovern -- later

In and around Octovern -- later

0. A message on Radio Plant
It's not heard, exactly, telepathy doesn't work with the ears. It sounds like Knives - one of them anyway, threaded with a weariness he can't hide like this, and echoed with the feminine reverberation and power of a sister plant. He doesn't have the power to do it himself, but whether she's just signal boosting or if he'd taken the step to merge with her the way he did so many others ... is unknown.

Every plant will hear it, if all goes well. Including the very one Vash had headed out to try to confront..

Vash the Stampede, one of you, has decided to go to Octovern and reignite the conflict with my younger self in spite of it being quiet these past weeks. I know there's at least three more of you out there; I would appreciate it [irony etches that 'voice' briefly]if you could collectively make sure this doesn't go the way it did in the past. If I have to come out there myself, I'm going to make it everyone's problem.

So let's make sure it doesn't go that far. I am certain that together, all of you can find a way to resolve this with no further pointless misery for our own kind.

1. Just outside Octovern
The sour-faced young Wolfwood who picked Vash up only a few hours into his hike to Octovern hadn't been in the mood to talk. He was heading for December, he said, and didn't want to hear anything from any fucking Vash about why he shouldn't go there. Vash had tried to explain to him that Melanie and the kids weren't there anymore – they'd been taken away by Brad to the ship days ago, but Wolfwood didn't want to hear it. He needed to see the place for himself, and Vash, on a similar mission, couldn't argue the point. So Wolfwood drove in silence, and Vash was able to close his eyes and get some real sleep – only occasionally interrupted by strange dreams, including one where his brother tried to warn him about heading for Octovern! Aren't dreams strange? – for the first time in what felt like weeks.

The cliffs around the city – and the remnants of the ship that had crashed there – made for an excellent vista point, so that's where Vash headed first. From the top of the cliffs he could see the whole city, and clear signs of a fight that had to have happened several days ago, perhaps longer. There's scorch marks on the cliff face, craters around the city, military vehicles mixed in with the refugee vans and trucks... but the city itself seems pretty peaceful. It looks like Knives was right -- the fighting is already over.

2. Main St and Market, downtown Octovern
Given the state of the rest of the planet, walking into Octovern is a delightful surprise. There's people here, more people in one place than anywhere else on Noman's right now. Refugees and locals, crew from the Earth ships and local military police, they're all mingled together in one big, bustling town. The streets are full of vendors, cars, people, all talking and shopping and arguing and laughing as though the terror of the last year never happened.

There's some excitement at the end of the block, though, raised voices and a lot of movement... and then, startling the crowd, sudden gunfire! Out of the crowd comes a single man, wearing a red coat and with spiked up black hair with a blond streak, running as fast as he can, and behind him? Behind him are a lot of people – bounty hunters, a couple local feds, people waving guns and autograph books, a whole mob of folks, all hot in pursuit, all yelling: “It's Vash the Stampede!

Help?

3. Out in the desert, heading back to July
He's escaped the mob, but given how many people are looking for him now, it seems best to take the long way back, and avoid any additional attention. His brother, this world's Knives, and this world's Vash, have both vanished. The war is over, the plants have been rescued, the Earth leaders are meeting with local government... and he's not needed at all. It's a relief – of course it is! – but he's spent so long dedicated to this fight that he's not really sure to do with himself now that it's over.

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It really is collecting Vashes, and this one has no idea exactly how many. It hasn't really sunken in exactly that there's even more than two, and one of those is an extremely dubious thing right now he's half convinced he hallucinated up.

Something niggles at him. Red coat.

The sand a bit further out is moving, and he watches it like a hawk, eyes narrowed. At least it's quiet again, so it's not likely to get startled away, and maybe FINALLY he can--

He's not used to plant powers being used on him, with the exceptions of losing an arm rather recently, and the mysterious healing aid given by That Guy Who Surely Isn't Actually Him, so when it sinks in that those flickers of emotions aren't his, which of course they aren't, he's not curious or protective, he's ravenous, little frequent meals just weren't cutting it.

The pause is lengthy before he slowly turns and looks back at his older self, expression blank. Unobserved, out in the sand, a lone sandworm nearly his size slowly unburies itself and hauls itself up onto firmer ground with many legs, creeping cautiously towards the box trap.

It's not noticed. Vash stares at Vash for a long, looong moment before dropping his rope and pointing with a little strangled noise of surprise that might have been 'You're a plant!' or 'Oh my god!' or some just a tiny shriek with some syllables mixed in. It's hard to tell, really.

From the other side of the rock there's a thump. And then the box begins scooting past, heading for the sand again as fast as it can go.

Whatever Vash was trying to trap has been trapped! But older Vash doesn't pay it any heed, not when younger Vash is pointing at him like that! It's a good thing he speaks Garble, and can tell that the sounds Vash is making are surprise and not something worse -- anger, accusations, blind panic.

His hand still over his mouth -- are they still being quiet for the trap? -- Vash nods, and waves his free hand in a little wave. Hello! Check out the mole! The lovely, once-blond locks! The pretty eyes! He's you, kiddo!

There's a scraping sound from the other side of the rocks, and Vash, hand still over his mouth, points inquisitively in that direction. Do you want to do something about that, friend? Your, uh, lunch is getting away.

Apparently this is just going from surprise to surprise, because as the moving box is pointed out, there's another shriek, this one distinctly frustrated, and he lunges to his feet, grabbing the sack of mysterious white powder and scrambling after the box with all the coordinated grace of a puppet with only half its strings.

It doesn't help that he STILL hasn't quite learned how to compensate for altered balance of having only one arm, but he's doing his best!

The silent approach doesn't seem to be in the cards anymore, by the string of curses that follow the mad scramble after the scooting box. And then the logic puzzle of how to get on the moving box with one hand while that one hand is OCCUPIED with carrying something. The bag is only abandoned with GREAT reluctance in favor of scrambling up onto the box, whereupon it slows to a creep, but it's definitely still moving.

It's thumped with one small fist. "Knock it off!" ... "..H..hey, uh. Mister. Can you .. get that for me?" The discarded bag, presumably.

No, he hasn't adapted to only having one arm yet, has he? It took awhile, Vash recalls -- getting the prosthetic installed early on helped with that, especially with the difference in weight from one side of his body to the other, but there's still so much that an arm is used for in basic movement that he hadn't even thought about, until the arm was gone.

Being barefoot out here on the hot rocks can't be great either, but one issue at a time, right? First issue: whatever's in that box! Second issue: being called Mister by his younger self. That's really weird. It doesn't sound right at all.

"Ah, yes! Coming!" This bag here? The one that's dusted with a mysterious white powder? Vash grabs the bag with his synthetic hand -- touching mysterious white powders with bare skin can be bad, kids -- and runs over to assist. Three hands are better than one, right?

"...So what's the plan, exactly?"

He's pretty sure none of this at least is a fever dream, which means that really is someone who looks a lot like him, just bigger, older and with different hair, but also a plant. And he wonders, as his box scoots very slowly toward the freedom of soft sand, if maybe he's just what male plants look like, the way most bulbed ones look the same.

How many independent plants were there? Did each ship have a couple, and everyone hid it so nobody would know, and ... and now stranded on the ground.. "Thank you!" It doesn't seem HE'S concerned about touching mysterious white powder given he isn't wearing anything like gloves and is quite happy to snatch the bag up again, getting more powder all over the place like a fine dusting of snow.

"..Oh, uh. Well. Um." The bag is .. once more set down, this time on the box, as he begins prying carefully at some of the framing holding it together. "First I'm going to dump this all over the worm. And then, when it stops moving, I'm going to eat it."

That's way too nonchalant for someone who isn't part of a wormhunting clan. "...You can have some too." There's definitely something awry with his plans in all this somewhere, but the piece of box he's prying at DOES come off, and is set aside. A long green antenna immediately pokes out, but he pushes it aside with one foot in favor of dumping in the suspiciously nice, clean white powder as quickly as he can and then popping the piece of box back over the hole again.

Vash considers this other plant with a long, measuring look. "Are you the man on all the posters?" Vash the STAMPEEEEDE. "...And the one who made all that racket earlier downtown?"

Vash watches, with increasing disbelief, as younger him first covers himself with, and then pours, the powdered poison into the worm box. If it's safe to have all over his hands like that then it's not going to do a thing to the worm, he wants to point out, but he's too busy being grossed out by the idea of eating a worm that size. Or any worm, for that matter -- his world sees them as a starvation food, and while things have been rough for awhile, there's still options other than eating bugs!

"No... well, yes. Well. One of them? But not that one in particular, apparently." He's got some toma jerky in one of these pockets, doesn't he? Ah, yes! "And yes, because they also though I was him." He holds out a hand, with a chunk of dried meat wrapped in a scrap of paper. Jerky? "Would you like something to eat that you don't have to poison first?"

Slowly the box actually begins to stop from its relentless slowmotion creep towards the sand, just as the ground begins to get softer. "Huh."

This is weighed against his previous assumptions, and found to line up fairly well. There must have been other independents. They were just looking in all the wrong places. Maybe that was his fault, all his efforts to steer Knives clear of larger towns and cities might have meant they were unnecessarily alone instead of being around humans AND other independent plants. Maybe one of them could have talked sense into his brother. "So .. how many of us are there, then?"

He means independents in general, not Vashes in specific, but it's not exactly clear. The wrapped bit of jerky is considered very, very carefully ... can't ever have too much food stashed, surely, and this is already dried and ready to get put away! "Thank you." Carefully he accepts the bit of wrapped meat and ... sticks it in a pocket for later. There's half a meal bar in that pocket too.

"Oh, diatomaceous earth isn't poisonous. Or toxic at all really to most things, just messy." He listens to the box for further signs of motion inside, and seems pleased when there's no sound from within. "I read about it once, it's ... um, it's something. People used to do on Earth to insects, and worms are kind of big bugs so..." That's not weird to know is it?! "I'm figuring one this size should last a good long while if I'm careful."

He seems proud of that idea, as if this is good planning and he is totally on top of what he needs to do to get by. But later on someone is going to flip their shit if he manages to get it back into the city and into a refrigerator.

Really, he'd do better using that box as a smoker and curing the meat for travel, since keeping it in the fridge will only preserve it for so lo-- no, wait, that's not the point here!

He'll get to the other questions in a minute -- the most pressing need is the worm that he's not sure he can watch the younger Vash chow down on without being sick.

"I've never been much of a fan of worm myself, ah ha ha!" Which is putting it mildly! They're emergency food for a reason -- just like sucking on a small rock will trick the body into creating saliva and keeping his mouth wet when he runs out of water, sucking on a worm will trick the body into thinking he's not starving to death. The flavor isn't something he can recommend, though. Maybe with a lot of gravy? "You must really enjoy it!"

At least he isn't going to eat it raw. He's hungry, not uncivilized. Mostly. "It's okay I guess, I like fish better but that's expensive and worms are free." That much is true. "Besides, if you get used to the taste, it won't bother you later when you really need it and don't have to worry about getting sick."

Food has been on his mind for days. Whether or not he was hungry, it was a constant nagging concern that kept snacks in pockets and a weather eye out for anything that might do in a pinch. Food that wasn't rotten, wasn't bloated, didn't come with the stink of decay and buzz of equally hungry flyers--

The thought is flinched away from, almost physically. "But! I'm sure with a little barbecue sauce it'll be amazing." Cautiously he peeks into the previously made hole, and when nothing happens, slides slowly off the box and onto hot sand and pebbles. Clearly it must have worked. "Maybe chili powder."

"Hoisin." The diatomaceous earth seems to have done its job -- the box isn't moving. Unfortunately. "Something thick, and with a lot of flavor, so you don't have to taste the worm." Is that rude? The kid just said he doesn't mind the taste. "That's just me, though! I guess it's true that we're not all identical after all!"

Oh, right. There was a question about that, wasn't there? Vash leans against a nearby rock, taking advantage of the bit of shade it offers -- and the defensive position, just in case that worm isn't dead yet -- and starts counting on his fingers. "As for how many of us there are, there's you and me, obviously, there's one of us who is a year or so older than I am? One who's a year or so younger, and I've heard of but haven't met one more." Is that all of them? "Oh! And a little us! He's barely a year old."

There's at least two version of their brother here too, but given how fresh that missing arm seems, maybe telling young Vash that there's multiple Knives here can wait awhile.

That's at least four other independent plants! And one of them is still very young! He's still not interpreting this right, not quite cottoning onto the idea of alternate realities instead of weird plant biology being weird, though it's definitely strange that they're all sharing kind of the same name..

Ever so slowly he levers up the box one-handed, cautious for any signs of movement. There are none that he can see, so the box is tipped right over. The worm, a good sized one that could after who knows how long mature into a proper grand worm, is no longer green but thoroughly white and powdered. "I wish I knew earlier there were more of us."

They might not have been so lonely. Things might have been safer, with adult plants around. Adults would prove humans could be safe and fine to be around, because look, these other guys grew up fine!

He crouches to study the worm, weighing how to get it out of its shell. He'd only ever been able to catch the flyers before, and those he just ate whole, chitin and all. Standing up, he turns to study the older plant more carefully, now that dinner is assured. He's really tall. And one hand.. looks. Well it might be a fancy glove! "But it's kind of neat your hair's different, it looks like something the Bad Lads might wear." All punk!

No sooner does he turn his back to the worm than it suddenly 'reanimates' from its patient playing possum, thrashing once in a whole body fling that showers white powder everywhere, then dives for the sand with even more thrashing, paddle-like front legs and long muscular tail kicking sand in all directions in a sudden obscuring hail of pebbles, sand and diatomaceous earth. His first impulse is to recoil, shielding his face as best he can from the sudden onslaught of harmless filth, then dives after it with another curse. There goes dinner! And it's FAST in the sand, his chances of catching it on sand and not hard ground are pretty slim.

His hand goes automatically to his hair when the younger Vash comments on it, but he's careful to school his face into a bland smile. "It's not that flashy, is it?" That's right -- he wouldn't know what the black meant yet. Well, there's plenty of time for him to find out, and maybe even to avoid burning through his energy the way some of the older Vashes had to.

But then all thoughts of July are swept aside as the worm shudders back to life. spraying dust everywhere and fleeing back toward the softer sand. Vash's hand twitches for his gun, but he doesn't really want to shoot the poor thing. Besides, if it gets away, they'll just have to go find something more suitable to eat, right?

So he leaves his gun in its holster and runs just a little too slowly after the worm right behind the other Vash, grabbing for the rapidly kicking hind legs. Oh darn, the worm is too fast, and Vash simply doesn't have any hope of catching it! Alas!

"Worm, get back here!"

It's clearly styled that way on purpose! How on earth would anyone get it to just grow that way on its own? Unfortunately any further comments on neat hair will have to wait because dinner is on its way to freedom and Vash is simply NOT enough to actually stop it. Maybe if he had a gun, though after ... recent events he's not entirely sure he can pull the trigger on another living thing.

Besides which, he doesn't actually have it with him. So he has to make do with grabbing the flailing tail of the worm and attempting to drag it to a stop, which given it's in its natural element and he only has one arm AND it probably outweighs him by a good amount, doesn't actually do anything to deter it, unlike the box from earlier. It disappears into the sand in a cloud of dust and debris, leaving its attackers thoroughly wormless and the smaller of the plants on the ground glowering at the divot that is a rapidly backfilling tunnel.

He's not stupid enough to dig after a worm. "...So much for meat this week." He tips over slowly onto his side, causing another puff of white powder and sand, expression and tone thoroughly forlorn. Sure he has that nice bit of jerky, which he's definitely saving up for emergencies, but there could have been roast! "If I have to look at another bowl of rice I swear I'm going to scream."

No, never dig in after a worm! That was an early lesson, and one that only had to be tested once.

Younger Vash tips over, and Vash's heart goes out to him. He certainly knows what that kind of gnawing hunger feels like -- even if he is only protein-starved, apparently, and not actually without any food at all. He digs in his pockets as younger Vash bemoans his fate, and is delighted to discover that he's got a couple bills still folded up in the very bottom of one. It's a huge risk, going back into Octovern, but if he hides his coat, and combs his hair down, and if they're very lucky...

"Tell you what. Since it's my fault it got away..." Which is maybe true, even taking the gun out of the equation? If younger Vash hadn't been distracted by him, then would the worm have been able to deceive him like it did? Who's to say? "...how about I treat you to dinner in the city? All you can eat!"

With that many people in Octovern, there have to be restaurants open, right? Especially since all the plants that this world's Knives had collected are now free? Vash looks pointedly down at younger Vash's bare feet, and adds, "...maybe some shoes, too?"

Even with their rapid healing, he's going to end up burnt to a crisp from both ends without both shoes and a good shirt to protect him from the suns.

He had a lot of recovering to do! And while the careful diet he's been put on of selected foods and vitamins and supplements is certainly ideal for the injury and hunger he'd been through it was also BORING and couldn't be conveniently stored up for later in case it happened again.

The donuts up against the rock back where he'd set up the trap, sit in their box. He won't be trying those again for a little while, maybe going from almost nothing to a half dozen pure sugar bombs was a really bad idea. It was, however, food he could save for later. A stale donut is an edible donut.

Or, as the much older plant makes an offer, he supposed he could trade them away for something else to potentially make himself sick on. "It's not your fault. Worms are smart." He doesn't know exactly HOW smart but even worm hunter professionals didn't get their quarry all the time, so they had to be pretty good at escaping at least. What restaurant is going to take them, even with cash in hand, given half the desert's dust has been kicked up and the younger Vash is definitely looking suspiciously beige instead of normal healthy colors ... that's a good question but one he's willing to find out, awkwardly leveraging himself back up to sitting, and then working on regaining his feet.

Another trap will have to be set later. "..I don't mind being barefoot. Sometimes you gotta.." He grasps at the air with his hand, frowning. "...Use toes, you know? Hard to do with a shoe on." Well, maybe he DIDN'T know, but Vash had this dim idea that maybe they shared a similar injury. Maybe more than that. "I don't want to just. Take things. Uh. ... I have half a box left of the chocolate glaze, if you want them. I can find something else later."

He knows what it's like to try and navigate the world with only one hand, certainly! And it's possible that, in the days following the loss of his arm, he'd used his feet to make up for that lack. Honestly, he doesn't really remember. He remembers being cut free, and sitting with the town's only survivor until she'd cried herself out... and he remembers waking up on the ship, with so many people standing over him. But the days in between? Those are mostly a blur.

Food is important, as are better protective clothes, but what his young self really needs is an arm. But with Luida front and center dealing with the ships from Earth and the rest of the planet's plants gathered here, in Octovern, Vash doesn't know where they could go to get one made. He could offer his young self his boots, or his coat -- and may, if they end up traveling together for any length of time! -- but the arm isn't so easily gifted.

Too bad Sensei isn't around anymore.

Vash's mouth starts watering at the offer of donuts, but he shakes his head in gratitude. "Nobody's taking anything, don't worry about it! I've got money." And fame, if it comes to it. Come hell or high winds, this kid is getting fed. "If you're worried about going into the city, I can go and bring something back? I don't actually know what's available right now, but I bet I could find some salmon sandwiches!" He'd said he liked fish, so is one of Vash's comfort foods a favorite of this version of himself, as well?

The people who were supposed to be looking after him, whom he'd snuck out on as soon as he had the opportunity, had some ideas about what to do about his arm. Vash himself had ideas mostly revolving around not being handed around to all kinds of strangers who were primarily interested in what they thought was best, not his opinions on the same.

"Nobody in the city is bothering me," he says slowly, eyeing his older counterpart's hair and accessories. "I'm just some kid who keeps getting in the way." He was much, much too young to flag as the legendary wanted criminal OR his notorious brother, which meant he could come and go as he pleased, if he so chose. "But if they were chasing you around earlier they're probably going to again, and a lot of them are armed." He pats himself briefly, and is rewarded by another small dust cloud. Hm. Maybe he should see if he can find a dust brush or something first. "You might want to make yourself not .. um, distinct. The Bad Lads look might be cool, but it's really noticeable."

He can't decide whether to be annoyed or to laugh. Was he this much of a pain in the butt at this age? Honestly, it really is hilarious. "I'm going to cover it up!" Bad Lads look, really? "And I'll take the coat off too." Leaving the skin-tight leather number, but at least it's less distinctive than all that bright determination red?

And okay, sure, he went into town earlier not in disguise, with his hair crested up and his coat screaming out his identity to the world, but he's able to keep a low profile when he needs to! Sometimes! ...Look, it's happened before, therefore it's possible again, right?

He digs in his pocket for a clean handkerchief he's sure he left in there. "It's not long enough anymore to pull back, so how about I cover it with... with..." It's in there, right? He had a handkerchief, honest! Did it fall out? His eye is drawn to the white powder still clinging to younger Vash's, well, everything, and Vash sighs. "With some of that stuff," he grumbles, pointing at the pile of diatomaceous earth on the ground by the worm trap. "White hair, no coat, now can we go get lunch?"

Leaving off his bulletproof coat when heading into a city of people who are gunning for him seems like a terrible idea, but so long as he keeps his head down, it'll be fine!

He likes that look! If he thought he could get away with hair dye he'd probably give it a go, at least until he found out what it means when a plant's hair starts turning black. But it's definitely noticeable, and makes him look just like the guy on the wanted posters; Vash gets away with it by virtue of looking like he's fifteen or so, not in his twenties. And it's going to be some years yet before that changes.

Hand set on his hip, he considers the hair, the diatoms, and the lack of a handkerchief, weighing options. "Maybe it'd be enough if it just isn't sticking up," says the kid who's hair would definitely be sticking up in exactly the same way if he were cleaner, "And don't put this on me, it's not my fault I don't want you to get shot up." Well, it is, since he's the one wanting it, but that would be too sensible. "I know a place you can keep the coat, but we'll probably have to stay out of the suns if you burn easy." HE burns, presumably every plant can burn, and this one's wearing stuff nearly head to toe so maybe he has sensitive skin.

The worm would have been easier to eat. "...You can have the donuts anyway if you want them. I won't be eating them." Maybe in a few weeks he'll give another one a cautious try, but the idea alone of trying again made his stomach roil.

[ One offer of donuts he could refuse, with great effort. Two offers? It would be rude to just leave them here to dry up and get dusty, wouldn't it? ]

Well, maybe just one. [ He could put away the whole box in under five minutes, but his younger self doesn't need to know how much of a glutton he is quite yet! Besides, they're going to go get lunch. If he's got salmon sandwiches in his future, then he doesn't need all those pastries. ...He wants them, he just doesn't need them. ] And you don't need to worry about me! I don't burn easily.

[ The box was over here on this rock, wasn't it? Vash heads over, combing his hands through his hair as he goes. The mess really doesn't want to lay down -- it's going to take water to flatten it out, and he doesn't want to waste what little drinking water he has left on this disguise. Looks like rock dust might be the solution after all. ]

And a good thing, too. I figure I've walked the whole circumference of this planet ten times by now!

[It would be TOTALLY rude to just let them go to waste! What else could eb done with them besides leave them to the worms, at this point? Taking them is just the reasonable thing to do!]

I think there's.. maybe six or seven. I don't want them to go to waste, I just can't ... actually eat them.. yet.

[Homeless, lonely donuts in need of proper appreciation. He trails after the older plant, making a couple half-hearted attempts to clean himself off a little. Thankfully his bandage is still firmly in place and he wouldn't have to put up with any uncomfortable stump-washing, just a changing of the outermost wrappings.

Don't think about it long. Move on, before it brought up memories of--]

Ten times? How fast do you go?!

[It's not a small planet! And as far as he knows people have only been here about eighty years, walking the entire width of a planet would have to take a good chunk of that, never mind multiple times!

... Maybe it's an exaggeration. Maybe that heavy looking jacket kept the worst of the sun off, even his face didn't look that tanned.. but that could be a plant thing, for all he knew. Maybe that's why he just burned instead of tanning. Should he get a big jacket? Vash frowns faintly, brow furrowing. Jacket, and layers. Hm.]

Hey, what's your name anyway? I'm Vash.

[LIEK THE WANTED POSTER. But he's too small and coincidences abound.]

[ It's a bit of an exaggeration... but only a bit! Walking an average of, oh, ten to twenty miles a day, over a hundred and fifty years... the miles add up! He did the math once, , years and years ago, and really, it's a wonder that his boots have held up as well as they have.

He just shrugs at the comment about his speed -- he goes as fast as he goes, as fast as the terrain and the weather and his mood and his being-pursued status allow! -- and leans over the donut box, humming with indecision. They all look so good! How can he be expected to pick just one? That's like picking only one puppy from a box of strays -- it's simply impossible. He might have to take one for the team, so to speak, and eat them all. Yes, the longer he thinks about it, the more he has to accept the sorry truth -- every one of these donuts needs to be eaten. They were made to be eaten. They want to be eaten! He's merely the agent of fate, an avatar of a great cosmic hunger that seeks to balance the scales between emptiness and pastry. This is his destiny. He must...

...wait, what did he say?

Vash turns to Vash, confusion written all over his face. ]

What do you mean? I'm you. [ Although, given the vagaries of time travel and multiple universes... ] Or I was you. Or I might have been you, if you weren't brought here. Probably. [ Did that clear things up? ] There's a lot of us here! Vashes, I mean. [ Sorry, is this a lot to take in? He waves, a tiny gesture with just one hand. ] Hello! I'm also Vash.

[It would be a terrible waste of all the effort either a person or a plant went into to make those donuts, so it's just right and proper they be consumed by someone who will fully appreciate them.

It's still hard not to be a little bit envious. The last time he'd had a donut, before the most recent incident, it had been just fine and delicious and NOW.. now he's stuck with bland boring things and vitamins because it's healthier. A pox on all healthy things, he wanted horribly unhealthy fried things and sweet things and everything that would probably make him terribly ill.

Nothing is immediately said to the confused look or the revelation that follows, just a slow rise of eyebrows. This isn't actually the first time he'd heard about something like that, he'd just completely tuned it out the first time mostly thanks to being in terrible shape and decided it must have all been a really bizarre fever dream.

The younger of the two makes a move that looks like it had been intended to be crossing his arms before he gives up on it. This could also be completely true, but it could ALSO be complete bullshit.]

Uh huh. How many is a lot? And if everyone's Vash, where's our brothers?

[This recontextualizes an earlier bit of conversation, when he'd asked basically the same question, but it's in a way disappointing. Knives might consider the wisdom and experience of an older plant, but probably not if that older plant is him.

An older him who can't catch a worm either, which didn't really bode well for his chances for getting enough protein in the near future.]

Edited 2023-07-12 00:04 (UTC)

[ Vash nods -- of course he's concerned about Knives. A bunch of Vashes is funny, strange, potentially explosive, but a bunch of Knives? That could be truly dangerous, especially given how fresh that injury of his looks. ]

The plants in Octovern, all our sisters just over there? Somehow they brought us here to help the fight that just happened a few days ago, with this world's Vash against his brother.

[ For all the good it did -- they'd spawned across the face of the planet, far too far away to be of any help. Or at least, all the Vashes he's met did -- maybe there were more! Maybe there were dozens of them, and their combined strength was the reason that the plants had been returned and Knives was missing. Getting real information from their sisters was complicated, and the little he'd heard from the humans in Octovern had been confused, to say the least. All he's sure of is that Knives was right -- the fight they were brought here for is over, and now that their sisters are no longer joined together, they don't have the strength to warp spacetime and send them all home.

Given the ratio of Vashes to Knives, that means that there's several worlds out there now with no one to stand against their brother. He's trying really hard not to think about that, and what it means for the people in those worlds. ]

There's six of us so far that I know of, including you, and only two of our brother, one of whom is still a child. [ His smile grows fond. ] He goes by Nai, not Knives.

[ It's a lot to take in, he knows! And there's more yet to tell, but a little at a time is probably best. ]

There's a house out by Lost July where they all seem to end up, if you need a place to go.

[It had been. Longer. For him. Long enough to burn in the suns, long enough for meat to rot. Maybe it wouldn't have been so long if he hadn't been brought anywhere at all--

Don't think about that.]

'Nai'? ..That sounds a little like Knives, I guess.

[He's still recontextualizing, everything he'd said and heard from this plant since they encountered each other, and then further back. He HAD been told, Wolfwood and the other Vash weren't leaving him high and dry, it just didn't stick. Not their fault.]

I don't know if ... if my brother is here. If he is he's probably badly hurt. I.. .. w-well if you're really me you know why already. ...And probably you know if he's okay.

[Vash shot first, and shot without bothering to aim good enough to guarantee a nonlethal injury. He can't even be sure if he was shooting to kill or not, but everything that followed had simply been retaliation.

He stops for a moment, right on the edge of where sand becomes good solid packed earth and very deliberately chooses to not think about any of that right now. It's interesting, it's potentially super relevant, and! He is so not ready to process any of it.]

I have somewhere to go right now, in the city. The people who picked me up have given me a space. I don't know if I should stay or not what with all the.. [he wiggles his remaining hand in the air, fingers flexed.] .. Complete lunacy going on attached to my name!

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