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nomans_land2023-07-15 08:50 am
somatichybrid) wrote in nomans_land2023-07-15 08:50 am
the universe's sandbox
i July
In the dark of the just-set suns, the vast gaping chasm where there was once a city seems to moan, a low and mournful note as the still hot wind sweeps over its edge and down into the blackness below. It wasn't always there. Sometimes it was ruins, sometimes it was light and noise and life. Right now, it's a hole, and the steady breeze plays notes along its broken, ragged edges like a half-forgotten dirge.
It shouldn't be there. It should be ruins, he's certain of it, crumbling outlines of homes and businesses and lives. There still were ruins, just a little further out, the tumbled broken brick and stucco he expected, but this? This is so bewildering he doesn't know what to think about it, he just pulls his long heavy cloak tighter around himself to keep the sand-strewn wind out and stares. He too shouldn't be there, and he strikes a figure that is at once familiar and strange, the shrouding wrap of fabric hiding most but not all of the violently red coat below, or the vague outline of more limbs than there should be. At its hem on one side right along the ground, long protrusions almost like feathery blades or sharpened fingers curl against a brick long separated from its home, absently digging a little furrow into it. More proper feathers trail almost like a peacock's train in the dust, occasionally looping loosely around whatever's nearest. The closer anyone gets, the more tangible his presence is alone, an oppressive weight like a sandstorm on the horizon. It wasn't every day he didn't know how to feel about something. Usually it was feeling too much about something.
Maybe he shouldn't have listened to the message on the radio and set out to investigate it. He picks up the brick with the longer of his arms, strangely articulated blade-fingers finding easy purchase in the stone's surface, and flicks it into the pit, listening for the sound of impact and quietly counting under his breath.
ii Desert, A Lost Steamer
There's no point in hanging around mystery holes! Especially ones that didn't stay holes and profoundly disturbed him on so many levels that he's going elsewhere for a while, scrunching across the sand towards.. whatever was in that general direction. It should be a town or city sooner or later, if the stars weren't also completely screwed up and likely to point him in the wrong direction, a place he could pick up a few supplies, put the mask back on and hopefully get in and out before he had to think about it too much.
But there's the wreck of a sand steamer sitting in the sand, far displaced from its proper routes, half torn open from some kind of internal explosion and by the looks of it thoroughly abandoned. The suns would be up in another hour.
Free shelter! Maybe free supplies!
It's almost with a bounce in his step that he heads for the wreck, humming a little under his breath, train of feathers and sharp edges held at a jaunty, strangely optimistic seeming angle like a rooster's tail.
In the dark of the just-set suns, the vast gaping chasm where there was once a city seems to moan, a low and mournful note as the still hot wind sweeps over its edge and down into the blackness below. It wasn't always there. Sometimes it was ruins, sometimes it was light and noise and life. Right now, it's a hole, and the steady breeze plays notes along its broken, ragged edges like a half-forgotten dirge.
It shouldn't be there. It should be ruins, he's certain of it, crumbling outlines of homes and businesses and lives. There still were ruins, just a little further out, the tumbled broken brick and stucco he expected, but this? This is so bewildering he doesn't know what to think about it, he just pulls his long heavy cloak tighter around himself to keep the sand-strewn wind out and stares. He too shouldn't be there, and he strikes a figure that is at once familiar and strange, the shrouding wrap of fabric hiding most but not all of the violently red coat below, or the vague outline of more limbs than there should be. At its hem on one side right along the ground, long protrusions almost like feathery blades or sharpened fingers curl against a brick long separated from its home, absently digging a little furrow into it. More proper feathers trail almost like a peacock's train in the dust, occasionally looping loosely around whatever's nearest. The closer anyone gets, the more tangible his presence is alone, an oppressive weight like a sandstorm on the horizon. It wasn't every day he didn't know how to feel about something. Usually it was feeling too much about something.
Maybe he shouldn't have listened to the message on the radio and set out to investigate it. He picks up the brick with the longer of his arms, strangely articulated blade-fingers finding easy purchase in the stone's surface, and flicks it into the pit, listening for the sound of impact and quietly counting under his breath.
ii Desert, A Lost Steamer
There's no point in hanging around mystery holes! Especially ones that didn't stay holes and profoundly disturbed him on so many levels that he's going elsewhere for a while, scrunching across the sand towards.. whatever was in that general direction. It should be a town or city sooner or later, if the stars weren't also completely screwed up and likely to point him in the wrong direction, a place he could pick up a few supplies, put the mask back on and hopefully get in and out before he had to think about it too much.
But there's the wreck of a sand steamer sitting in the sand, far displaced from its proper routes, half torn open from some kind of internal explosion and by the looks of it thoroughly abandoned. The suns would be up in another hour.
Free shelter! Maybe free supplies!
It's almost with a bounce in his step that he heads for the wreck, humming a little under his breath, train of feathers and sharp edges held at a jaunty, strangely optimistic seeming angle like a rooster's tail.
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The first sun is just coming over the horizon when he spots the wreck, a great hulking mass of broken metal that used to be an older generation sand steamer. With a relieved laugh he heads for it, feet sliding across the sands as he runs. Sleep. That wreck promises shade, and shade means sleep, and he's so tired! He doesn't even mind if it's full of worms (he'd mind a little bit) or bandits (he'd mind not at all, so long as they agreed to behave!). For a good night's -- day's -- rest, he'll make it work!
"Hello!" But hopefully his luck will hold out, and the wreck will be as abandoned as it looks. He approaches from the side with the most damage, looking for a way in. "Vash the Stampede to the USS Rusty Menace, requesting permission to come aboard!"
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And then there's a voice. One he does not expect to hear, and he pauses, hip deep in blankets, listening intently. Then heads for a window to peer out.
There's definitely someone down there. For a few breaths there's a conflict between staying quiet and keeping his stuff to himself and the greater impulse to share whatever can be found. That out there, if nothing else, is someone in need.
A porthole pops open. "USS Rusty Menace to Vash the Stampede! Watch the sharp edges and do not under any circumstances trust the metal staircase. It has exactly one bolt in it."
He doesn't really sound like either Knives or Vash, a vague unfamiliar point somewhere in between instead, but that voice SOUNDS friendly enough. And there's a quaver when that disembodied voice speaks up again. "Are you really Vash the Stampede though? You're not going to blow up the ship are you?" Of course it's not Vash the Stampede, Vash the Stampede was, more or less, already onboard. Except this man did sound right, he's certain of that.
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"Those rumors are based on hearsay and exaggeration!" And facts, but that's neither here nor there. "I'm just looking for a place to get some sleep out of the suns, friend!"
Everyone's okay with that, right? Because he's coming in.
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What a neat concept. Another Vash. "There's some food still in the kitchens if you don't mind cans, but I stole all the blankets." An empty, silent ship means his voice echos fantastically without any need for megaphones or speakers.
The blanket thing won't be as great when the suns are up, but once they set..!
Well, more importantly it's going to allow him to wrap himself up a little better than one travel-ragged cloak, and tuck as many feathers and blades and accessories under it as he could just in case the visitor decided to actually.. visit.
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"I'll pass on the old cans, thanks!" Just because he can stomach just about anything doesn't mean he wants to test that ability, especially with tinned food of unknown age. This ship could have been here for a month or for a decade -- the suns and sands don't age everything evenly, and there's no telling when it was abandoned. "But do you think you could spare a blanket? For a..."
His voice trails off as he comes around the corner and finally spots his host, bundled up tight like he's freezing. And to be fair, it is chilly in the early hours, but still! Vash pauses in the doorway, raising one hand in greeting. "...fellow traveler," he finishes, with a big friendly grin. "Hello."
That is another Vash, isn't it?
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There is a distinct nest of dragged up mattresses and blankets, which he isn't currently occupying but seems perfectly good for a long, cold desert night. And he himself ..well he has the look of Vash. Or Knives. There's a distinct similarity, but the blond adjacent to the black hair is a shade too pale, and his eyes aren't quite the right color, and he has more than one beauty mark, but. They're obviously kin! Even if he's in a burrito.
His right hand pops out of a space between folds to wave back; it's normal enough at least. "Morning! Looking to beat the heat or here to get a good vantage point to watch the city appear?" It's.. it's interesting, really, he does look just like Vash did, a couple months ago. He was, and was extremely not, used to seeing himself from another perspective. .. Himself, someone like him.. And he could tell he was dealing with another plant. "... I guess I could spare a blanket or two," from the hoard of probably a good three dozen, the entirety of what the crew once had. "I didn't nick all the mattresses though."
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"Oh!" If there's mattresses then he'll go get one of those! He needs soft, not warm -- he's looking to avoid the warm! "No need to part with one of your blankets then, friend! I'll go grab a mattress here in a moment."
Well. No reason to beat around the bush! He might as well just ask. "So do you also go by Vash, or...?"
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He stops, visibly startled, when asked what he goes by, then laughs. "No, you're Vash, remember? I'm.." Not Knives anymore. Not Vash either. The rest of him didn't have names. That's a question he's REALLY going to have to figure out a proper answer to one day, without giving himself headaches over it from the cognitive dissonance. "..There are some who call me ... Tim?"
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And then it clicks. He's seen that movie! He knows that movie. And that wasn't his favorite scene, but he and Knives watched it enough times over one weekend that Rem threatened to take the video file away, so he has to remember the rest of it! What was the line? How did it go?
Ah. Right.
"Greetings, Tim the Enchanter!"
Right?
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"Greetings, King .. oh, hm, you're not actually a king." He rubs his chin with his freed hand, thoughtful. "Vash the Stampede will just have to do until you find a kingdom. Or a grail." It was nice to speak so easily with someone, even if it probably wouldn't last long. A day would be a lot, maybe two at the very most; they both had places to be probably. "Can't say I expected to run into anyone out here."
But by his tone and expression, he doesn't mind it at all! A little company never hurt, and it's strange in a pleasant sort of way to listen and watch someone who .. he used to be, in part.
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"There's a lot more of us than there used to be!" Does Tim know about the fight in Octovern? The duplicates? ...Rem? "Well, for a given definition of us, I guess. You're the first Tim I've met!"
It's okay that he drops his bag here, on the other side of the room? They don't have to share the space if Tim doesn't want to, but it's as good a place as any to set it down, and with his hands free he can have a drink and maybe a snack. "None of us have a kingdom yet, though, that I know of." What's he got left in his pockets? Please be anything other than those awful protein bars! "Honestly, that sounds awful. I don't want to rule a kingdom! That's so much responsibility!"
Crap. Just protein bars. With a disappointed shrug he holds one out.
"Hungry?"
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And not even a little displeased, it's so rare he can just sit around like a bump on a rock and have a chat with someone who wasn't Wolfwood or Elendira! Sure there were some philosophical questions, like was he really talking to someone else at all??
"I've heard rumors! Horrible menaces lurking about stirring up trouble. I thought it was someone running around pretending, but hoo, I guess not. I'll just assume it's the usual nonsense people exaggerate." So the trouble and menace and evil was ... not really going on, which he was fine with. Peaceful days would continue! "Don't tell me all the rest are Vash, though." There's an implication in Vash's words that there was more than just them. How many? Every part of him was rather curious. "How on earth would anyone keep that straight if we all got in a room together?"
Except for him, he was willing to bet they had the appropriate number of limbs and faces, and besides, he's an Enchanter, not a Stampede. It doesn't seem like he's jealous of his space at all so putting things down isn't a problem, but pardon him if he's going to plop on one of the mattress, boots sticking out one end of the blanket burrito. "Yeah, but on the other hand, if it's your kingdom, you could just.. get a trusted vizier and make them do all the hard work while you ran around having fun. I'm pretty sure that's what the history books say monarchs do anyway." Sounds fun to him!
The protein bar is waved off. "I had a can of maybe pears earlier. Can't say for sure if they're ... actually pears, I don't remember what they're supposed to taste like."
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A lot. A lot of hours.
"I had a fresh pear once." Sure, they could talk about all their alternates and duplicates and discuss which of them were actually Vash, contemplate the issues with multiple realities coexisting, hell, theorize on whether this particular reality was in fact real! But on the other hand? Pears.
"There was a geo-plant in July, and she loved fruit." It's not the best of memories, all told, but so long as he sticks with the present, the earlier days, he should be just fine. "They tried to get her to grow all kinds of things, soy, and sorghum, but she just wanted to make flowering trees covered in sweet things." He smiles at the memory, leaning his head against the wall behind him.
"So they had orchards. Little ones, at the edge of town, growing pretty much anything you can think of." And they'd been expensive as all get-out, only available to the wealthiest of the wealthy, but that detail just sours the sweetness of the rest of the tale, so he chooses to leave it out. "Oranges, and lemons, apples... and way in the back there were these three tiny pear trees. They were going to take them out, they said, because they couldn't ship them anywhere. They were too delicate, they bruised too easily." And if there's no profit, there's no point. "So the night before they were going to get cut down I snuck in, and there was one single pear left."
Man. He's really tired.
"It tasted terrible." His teeth ache again just thinking about it! "Green and hard, and weirdly sour..." He trails off, chuckling at the memory. It had been a truly truly great experience, and a truly awful pear. "Anyway! I hope yours were better than that!"
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I
This time, whoever, she sees the lost soul in person and pauses at a distance as she feels the overwhelming existence in her blood. She can see hanging things off of the person and her heart constrains in worry, thinking this is the broken Vash she was told about, the one full of vines and hatred of humanity.
...this isn't vines, though. It's something else.
"Hello?" Rem knows Vash told her to run if she saw him. But what mother would?
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Rem could be forgiven if she thinks she sees in that fog limbs of the wrong length, or too many of them, or extensions where there shouldn't be any, but as the breeze wisps it away, he seems .. pretty normal, overall! Surely anything else was a trick of the moons' light, or his ragged cloak tugged in an unusual way that gave the illusion of something not being right.
The rest he can't squelch is easily enough hidden by shrouding cloth and thick jacket, it would have to do. "Hello!" He sounds bright and cheerful, right hand a quick friendly wave. "Don't mind me, I-"
Wait. No. Wait a minute. It takes a few seconds, unsurprisingly, for a hundred and fifty odd years of memory to catch up and supply that the voice he hears is terribly familiar, the appearance never once forgotten, and there is a surge of mixed fury, grief, and joy so encompassing it's nearly pain. This place was so strange, it's unexpected but not impossible that suddenly the dead might resurface, and--
"Rem!" It's almost a childish squeal of joy more than any noise most grown men might make, and then the stranger pounces with every intention of scooping her right off the ground in a tight hug. He doesn't, up close, quite look exactly like the Vashes she's encountered, but he also doesn't look .. quite like Knives either, though obviously related in some fashion. Hair color's off where it isn't black, a little too pale, eye color isn't quite right either, and he's got more than one beauty mark, but that sudden boundless delight and obvious recognition means somewhere, somewhen, maybe she's got another child.
Well, if this is the one she was warned about, he certainly seems enthusiastically friendly, and not at all murderous. Yet. "This is the best planet EVER now!"
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The hello in that voice is both familiar and not, adding to her confusion - until that squeal takes her out of her stupor and Rem's scooped up into a hug. It's... Vash? It seems like it, but things are also really off. With all the versions of her boy she's seen so far, this was more Nai, too.
The double beauty marks clue her in just a bit, and she gently reaches to touch them like a doting mom affectionately poking the tip of her child's nose.
"Hello, there! I... this is new. Are you okay?" Rem asks, not sure what to do about he situation but no longer feeling like she's in danger. It's just her boy(s), after all.
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Though now that he's a bit closer, there's.. some small differences, here and there, but it's still definitely Rem. Well, that's good enough for him, and he sets her back down carefully, still thoroughly pleased. Of all the presents this place might offer, giving her a second chance was one of the best gifts there could be!
There's no flinch away from her gentle touch at the spots under each eye, beyond a reflexive blink and a quiet chuckle that isn't quite a giggle. It's definitely new .. and he wasn't about to explain any of that yet, why bring down the mood?? "I'm great now! I didn't think time travel was part of the things going on, this is amazing!" There is a point where many a Vash might tear up in moments of overwhelming happiness, and he ... does not, but it's certainly not a faked emotion either. "I .. I don't even know what to say."
Or do. Somewhere under all of his happiness is the dull ache of ancient resentment and bitterness, pushed aside for later. It wasn't something for reunions and miracles, and there wasn't a part of him that hadn't wanted her to live, once. "Have you been here long? Do you have enough supplies?"
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This is not a threat, though. It can't be, it's... it's one of her boys, even if he's very strange. With the double moles like that, he almost looks like Vash and Nai put together into one.
"So much is going on in this place, it's very strange sometimes." Rem agrees, smiling at him. It was very strange right now, but he seems genuine to her. Then again... she's only human.
"I've been here for months now. I have a little station two hours or so from here, where my small boys live, and I have open beds for the adults. I go here for supplies and one of the Vashes gives me plenty, too. I want for nothing, even if this planet isn't the one I imagined."
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So long as he could maintain his focus, she'd still only see someone oddly similar to both of her twins in one long, lanky frame. It might be a mystery but at least it wouldn't be frightening. And he didn't (well did, a tiny bit) want to frighten her.
"..So that radio broadcast from before, indicating a little station by July, was pointing directly to your home?" He's .. going to find whatever Wolfwood that was and stuff sand down his pants. Or shake him til something rattled loose. "Please tell me some of those visitors you have are also providing security." Not the 'small boys', he's certain, that sounded like she might have come with both of them when they were still very young, but if these 'other Vashes' were hanging around they damn well better or he was going to have to take some idiots to task before OTHER people got hurt. Again. "Or at least brought you a big mean looking dog."
And if that person were Rem? Intolerable. The lapse in concentration at that infuriating thought bites thin blades into his palm when one hand clenches, the sting of pain a sudden reminder to keep control and not let emotions run rampant. Control was always key. Breathe.
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...she's still trying to figure out what he is, but he's definitely her boy. Just... both at the same time? Very much a mystery.
When he mentions the broadcast, Rem tries to smooth it over. She's talked about her place over the radio as well, so Wolfwood isn't the only one making that mistake - and he doesn't really have pants to shove sand in, does he? "I have at least one Vash around most of the time, but we really haven't had any visitors that aren't one of my boys or allies of them since I got here."
She's not going to mention the ghost that stays around like an invisible alarm. At least not yet.
Rem doesn't notice the blades, which is probably a good thing, but she can tell that he's trying to compose himself. "Almost every human on this planet was in Octovern, as far as I understand. They're starting to spread out again, so I guess we might have other visitors." She pauses, thinking of her little ones. "Maybe a dog would be a good idea, if it's nice to the kids."
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His gaze turns back to the hole. There's something odd about the energy here, which he couldn't quite get his teeth around. "Maybe every human won't be in Octovern forever. I've heard rumors of small towns just pop, appearing suddenly out of thin air." And an entire damn city, apparently. "...If you don't mind presents of the more dangerous sort, I ... .. I think I know someone who still makes tasers. Finding a mean looking dog might take longer."
Why is it always thin air, anyway? Would fat air be very humid? The thought is shaken off quickly before it can distract him too much, and slowly, carefully, he unclenches his hand. That stings. "I'll make a present out of it! You deserve a party!" Just him, assorted Vashes, some kids, ..whoever else turns up, and the taser. Or pepper spray. He's pretty sure he can make the latter himself if he wanted to.
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At his(?) mention of towns popping up randomly, her eyes widen slightly. "This world is really unstable, isn't it... between that and people sometimes disappearing from one place to another, it's chaotic. Makes it difficult to plan things." At least more towns popping up might be nice for the displaced people as they return.
She doesn't know just how few humans there are left.
"I could stomach a taser, I think." Rem finally agrees. "I'll set up some alarms too, if I can scavenge some. Maybe a lock pad for the house." It may have been created as a place for needy travelers, but she also needs to keep both her children and said travelers safe.
Then her new-but-not boy then quickly changes to this party idea again and she can't help the small laugh. Vash's excitement, Na... Knives' seriousness. "I really like the idea of a party. It's my birthday in a couple of weeks, so it's a good timing and I think would help everyone cheer up."
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Taser, party, cheer everyone up. 'Everyone' suggested way more than he's thinking of, so he's going to have to find even MORE balloons.. and get better control over hiding his more inhuman traits so he doesn't terrify everyone. Even his own 'brothers' might be frightened. "It's settled then! In a few weeks, a party! I'll bring some nice things, I know where to find balloons on this dustball." Which is of course absolutely required.
Balloons, and maybe a lot of sensor arrays. "You're near here all the time, Rem? Is this always a hole? The air has a strange energy to it, maybe ... electrical discharges or ... I don't know, odd auroras?" He isn't expecting the reality of the entirety of July, two different ones, phasing in and out, just the idea that perhaps he'd ... they'd somehow left it oddly charged and he simply couldn't tell before.
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His excitement for a party is lovely, and it definitely cheers her up a little bit to think about. Balloons definitely seems important to him, so she'll enjoy that, too. "It sounds wonderful. I'll retry the cake idea I had for your birthdays." What she attempted was... terrifying.
As for the mentioned July phenomenon, she glances out over the crater. "Yeah, I come here a lot to see if anyone has shown up that needs help." Her Vashes tended to end up here sooner or later. "But you're right, it's a very strange thing going on here. Sometimes it's just rubble, no crater... and if you're lucky, sometimes it's an intact city full of life." She shakes her head. "I don't know why, but it seems to cycle."
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Part of him thought it was best to let the dead stay dead. The rest of him was more focused on things surviving. ".. I wish there were more old tech around. I'd love to see a network of sensors all around to monitor it. Maybe there'd be some answers, not just for what's going on here but for all of us." And then, maybe how to control it. Or at least keep it from causing harm and see if it can be turned to good things!
Good things, like parties. Time traveling through the multiverse to pick out the very best of gifts and party favors would be a good use of time, but he'll have to do it the old fashioned way instead. "The one announced over the radio? I'm sure you did fine! You had enough people around to help eat it, right?" The one from a century and a half ago was, to his memory, also just fine. But anything she made likely would qualify as far as he was concerned, the effort was more important than the end result.
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