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Octovern, since that's where all the cool kids are.

Rated R for violence.

1.

It's a good thing all those wanted posters show a black haired angry twin of Vash the Stampede, because the one with hair so pale it might as well be white hasn't been noticed yet by anyone of the Federal sort. Just one more dust covered caravan cockroach in a city full of them.

It has taken Knives the better part of three months to get here.

On foot for almost all of it.

Being picked up a few iles out was nice but almost pointless by then, still, he'd hitched a ride, gotten dropped off and promptly relocated to the nearest restaraunt, bar or otherwise useful source of water and food, neither of which he actually needs.

Pretend to eat and drink, even if you don't have to

He also has no need for human clothing, but he's at least bothered with that, and is dressed in depressingly ordinary bluejeans and boots, black turtleneck shirt and sky blue crop top jacket, fingerless gloves on his hands and dark sunglasses more often than not hiding his both eyes and a twisting pale scar. It hides every single glowing line he struggled to easily obscure or that could catch an unexpected reflection of the light. He could be anyone, if 'anyone' paid for every single transaction in coins instead of paper bills, but nothing flags to humanity as obviously NOT human, which is the point. He doesn't think to hide from his own kind. Why would he?

And so he sits, a careworn bag sitting at his feet, working very slowly through a blueberry muffin and a tall glass of water with a lone icecube in it. Nothing to see here, move along.

2.

Knives, pack once more over his shoulder and map in hand, is losing the fight with navigation. The map's several years out of date and does not at all have all the modifications and camp outs and construction that's happened since the worlds merged. Which leaves him standing on the side of the road at a crossroads that simply doesn't exist on the map, scowling at the grid-marked map in his hands.

This is absolutely Ann Street. Ann Street should run right to North Street, but it does not. Not anymore.

Now there's an entire gun shop in the way and several shanty-town level buildings, and he's not entirely sure North Street even exists anymore. A trio of armed Federal troops march past; they ignore him and he only gives them a cursory look until they stop to update the wanted posters nailed to the gun shop's wall. While they might be on the lookout for a certain pair of notorious outlaws, he just doesn't fit the profile.

The names on some of those posters, though..

He crosses the street, dodging a tomas-pulled wagon, and stops in front of the dozens of posters to study them with a furrowed brow. Whoever's coming up with these things clearly is a terrible artist, while that's his name it looks nothing like him except for the beauty mark. "...Really? Not even a price tag?"

Aren't these supposed to come with a bounty, instead of 'Reward Upon Capture'?

Near July, before all the chaos

Nai's missing, the smashed-up city that Rem had put her house next to keeps changing, there's people nearby, human people, more and more of them all the time, gathering... it's been an eventful few days for a tiny plant!

It's not healthy to sit inside all day, hunched over the radio, waiting desperately for any sign of his brother, and so Vash is out wandering the dunes and cliffs near the station, a small two-way radio clipped to his belt that lets him keep listening to the radio inside, just in case Nai is able to call again. Some of his day is taken up training, working on focusing his plant powers to summon feathers that sprout in tiny downy tufts all along both his arms. Some of his day is just walking, exploring and re-exploring the space around the station, finding holes, bugs, interesting rocks. Some of his day is lying flat on a cliff, watching the human refugees below as they gather around the ever-changing city of July. Sometimes he finds a quiet space where nobody can see him, and cries for awhile. Sometimes, when Rem's been out late working hard, he's inside the station, cleaning and cooking and helping out as best he can. And, late at night when he can't sleep, he climbs up on the nearby ledge and watches the stars.

entrance | location: octovern

For a very long time, there is nothing. Like the beginning of the universe - a time before time, space before space. He has no physical form he's aware of, no neurons to fire to create thoughts, no hand with which to reach out and nothing to reach out to. This isn't right. Is there a point to asking where he is, when it feels like there is no "where"?

But then, just like during Creation - something shifts, and then there is, again. There's warmth and a breeze, which necessitates a form to feel those things, doesn't it? Knives lies in that warmth for what feels like ages, letting the breeze caress him, thinking over the events of JuLai, thinking over... Vash.

He'd been so close. They'd been so close, and... then everything had been ripped from them. How could Knives have been so fallible? Nothing should have been able to break through to Vash. For what feels like ages, Knives lingers in this confusion, which warps into pain, anger, frustration, and back again. He'd had Vash back, and it had been ripped away from him. Everything had been ripped away from him.

Finally, though, Knives breaks out of his own thought loop, and looks forward, instead. He still is, in some way, which means there's still hope. He can't assume everything has failed until he confirms that himself. There are other elements of this plan that can be salvaged. He can't do it on his own, no, but this isn't the end. It feels more like Genesis than Revelations.

So, he rises, sitting, his eyes finally opening. He's sitting in the warm sand, and when he looks over the landscape, it feels... off, somehow, something so minimal that Knives can't be sure if the planet has changed or if he has. Coming to his feet, he's quick to materialize his cloak and hood around him, ever-so-slightly relieved by the comfort and familiarity it brings him. (Not that he'd ever admit to that, of course.) Relief is hard to come by right now, so he takes what he can get.

He's just outside a city, although he doesn't immediately recognize which one. He's loathe to head towards a human settlement, that's true, but as it stands Knives isn't even sure where he is, and he has to start somewhere, get his bearings, figure out where to proceed from here. It's disgusting he has to do this himself. Where are those who'd pledged their loyalties to him? Shouldn't they be awaiting his return? Or was their faith truly so shakeable?

Well, he'll get to them in due time. For now, Knives proceeds towards the city. It isn't long until he reaches the city entrance, and he stops for a moment, considering his next move. He's not sure if there's a point in trying to find his way back to JuLai, and the idea of stopping to ask someone for directions irks him. These feelings of helplessness alone are beginning to flare his anger again, and Knives stands still for a moment, looking out over the city, letting his feelings pass through him.

This plan has always involved doing things he didn't want to do, and relying on people he didn't want to rely on. This is a setback, nothing more. As long as he's alive, he won't give up. He can't.

Slowly, Knives takes a step forward, then another. Someone here will tell him what he needs to know, even if he has to rip through them one by one to get there.

Still In Octovern

Two days helping out at Signey's Cafe had turned into weeks, and after finding and then almost immediately losing that very tiny Nicholas, Vash had found himself unable to leave. The Plants were still under such tight security, he hadn't been able to get in to see them, and he had almost managed to figure out a way to get past the Feds to sneak back onto the Home ship so that he could let Melanie know about the small boy he knew she would want to look out for. But the heat was still too high, metaphorically, and he just hadn't been able to make headway in either plan, though at least Sig had let him start staying in the attic above the cafe instead of having to pay for the inn every night, once she'd found out he really didn't have much money to his name. Six of one, half dozen of the other, as the saying went.

That just made it easier to justify continuing to work at the cafe, where he could keep an eye on what was happening around the city, and where he could keep an eye out for the small boy with dark hair looking for his family. Sig had even caught on when she'd noticed him glancing constantly to the front window, and after a little prodding had gotten him to admit he was worried for the boy who'd been out front the first day he'd started working for her. She'd promised to keep an eye out, too, when she could, and he'd had to fight back a few tears of gratitude, which had simply gotten him a little motherly pat on the hand before she'd wandered back to the kitchen.

Things had almost seemed to...settle, for him. He had things to do every day, tasks to keep his mind off some of the darker places it tended to wander, especially as of late, a bed to sleep in and a more steady supply of food than he'd had since leaving the Home ship the first time with Wolfwood, and at least a little help with some of the mountain of important things that he was trying to do. So when the bell above the door chimed, he seemed, at least outwardly to most, in a fairly chipper mood.

"Good morning! Be right there!" he chirped, drying his hands off on the white apron he wore over his button down and slacks as he turned away from wiping down the register counter. It wasn't all that unlike the way he had been making ends meet in July, all things considered, before everything had gone south, only this time he was making more of an effort to avoid wearing his coat quite so often. That was distinctly a thought that he had worked very hard to supress the moment it occurred to him, a week after he'd settled into the attic upstairs.

[Specifically intended for Terran Fed Ship Shenanigans with the two eldest Vashes, but Open To All, if the mood strikes you! :D]

Lost July: Between The Candle And The Star

Caravans have begun arriving, alongside the ones trying to leave. Plant cultists by the rumors (and occasional marks and eager preaching), come to by their words try to help fix whatever's gone wrong with the alternating cities and try to bring salvation to their tormented populaces. They seem like eager, friendly folk for the most part, bringing food and water and tents.

Some of them seem a little too cold, a little too well armed, to be peaceful and well meaning priests, priestesses and clerics. They watch the cities and say nothing.

It's early morning, with only one sun up and the other yet to rise, when the area designated Lost July is rocked by an explosion felt for iles in all directions, the teeth-grinding hum of power cutting off.

Those that had the dubious luck to be awake at that moment report JuLai had been mostly present at the time, translucently crouched over the gaping chasm in the ground like a broken-backed worm before every light in the city had flared blinding pale violet and the entire thing, broken ship and all had disintegrated into a shower of glass, metal and distant, terrified screams as felt as they are heard.

And July's adobe and scrap buildings took its place. No hole, no ruins, just an intact and rather bewildered city left behind.

An entire bus full of the cultists are preparing to leave for July, unpacking most everything they can from the vehicle, which seems to have a fair bit of tech it shouldn't have for simple people transport. The sense of gathering energy begins again, slow but noticeable, a dull and muted thing.

In Which Problems Begin: Intro

There's energy building around July's ruins. It's tangible even to humans as a bit of static in the air, enough to give a little shock if one touches metal, but it's enough that worms have fled the area entirely, not a wing to be seen. The occasional bird no longer lingers, either.

Sometimes, it is the sprawling city of July, in brick and desert mortar and adobe and scraps. Sometimes, it's the shining glittering spires of JuLai, a modern city sprouting out of a wrecked hull like a strange technological mushroom.

Sometimes it's ruins, or a giant hole. It used to switch seemingly at random, with no real rhyme or reason, though people only have ever left July, in the occasional vehicle or on tomases, oblivious until the switch happens with them on the outside. More people are leaving now, in families packed onto vehicles, nervous and apprehensive - there's something wrong with their plants, is the only thing they can say before they quickly vacate the area, heading anywhere, anywhere but near where a plant might unexpectedly blow. Watching their city flicker out and be replaced by another is a shock.

Nobody ever leaves JuLai. Nobody enters either, by the heavily armed trucks and guards at every normal point of entry. Sometimes someone makes a run for it, but they disappear like smoke in the wind as soon as they hit the edge of the city.

And the switch is increasing in speed. Weeks, sometimes, has now become days, occasionally mere hours.

A small camp of July's escapees has begun a few iles outside the city, in the lee of a sheltering rock, arguments frequent over whether or not they should try to get back and save their neighbors and friends, or if the only chance is heading for another big city.

The sense of power in the air is growing with every flicker of exchanging cities.

[OOC Note: This is an open prompt, even characters not joining directly in the later bits can interact with it as they please.]

Location: Who in the blue blazes even knows???

In the grand scheme of things, Melanie thought perhaps her and the kids might have gotten off better than most, when everything was said and done. Things were still up in the air, yes, and people were still in desperate need of a place to stay, but they had been taken care of, and being housed on that big, half-functional space ship as the residents of the orphanage were, she had found herself with more hands to help care for the kids than she'd had in years! It was like she had been given a vacation for the first time in her life, though it did make her feel a little guilty, seeing all of the people in the streets who hadn't fared as well as they had in the chaos.

Unfortunately, it also left her with a lot of time on her hands, and in the few months since the events that had lead to them all staying on the ship while the fancy Earth military tried to get everything put back into place, she had been trying everything she could to distract herself from a few very intense, very recent memories that had been making it a little hard for her to get a peaceful night's sleep. But at least they were all safe, shown far more care than she had ever expected, and it was comforting to watch the children of the ship playing with her own kids, all of them doing their best to be just a bunch of normal, happy children in spite of everything.

Thankfully, for today, the one strange blond boy that seemed to follow the matriarch of the ship's community around like a lost puppy had asked if she wanted to help collect a few baskets of apples, and bless his heart, he was such a sweet, bubbly little thing that she couldn't help but agree, especially what with him still healing from such a severe, disabling injury as he was. She honestly thought it was a bit of a travesty that anyone even let him work in that state, but that stern, protective young man named Brad had made it seem like it was harder to get him to let people take care of him than it was the other way around. And she couldn't help but wonder, all that being said, if there wasn't more to the little voice in the back of her head that said he sure did remind her of that other strange blond man she'd seen during that horrible business back in December.

But all of that was far more unpleasant than she cared to think about right now, when he was chirping at her from up the ladder above her, after he'd insisted on climbing up himself instead of letting her wobble her short, little legs up there on her own, and dropping the bright, red fruit down by the handfuls into the baskets as she held them up above her head. It didn't take them long at all before they had three big, heavy baskets full and were walking back across the bright, green atrium on their way back to the kitchen to drop off their harvest, and he was chatting her ear off the whole way, asking about the kids - he'd already memorized all of their names - and about their orphanage, the way it was run, how they cared for them, seemingly fascinated with the concept and wanting to know everything about how the whole thing worked.

She wondered if there was a particular reason he'd taken such an interest. When she'd asked Brad if he was his younger brother, the man had just sputtered and denied any family connections, though it was obvious he and a good number of other people were going out of their way to care for the boy, and she had never seen him with anyone who she could definitively be sure were his own parents. Perhaps he was on his own, too. The community here seemed to be close enough that she could imagine them simply taking any wayward children in and caring for them as a group, and if that were the case, she could certainly imagine the concept of orphanages being an unusual one to the boy. How must they all look to a community that went out of their way to take care of each other so much, when her and all of the kids often seemed like they barely had enough shoes to fit on their little feet?

She was trying to explain the chore rotation that had been in place since well before she had been in charge when, just as her foot went to step out of the grass and onto the metal flooring of the corridor, she felt a strange sort of pop in her ears, her hair fluffing up from underneath the bandana she used to keep it held back, and found herself, in the blink of an eye, putting her foot down instead into soft, shifting sands.

She gave a startled shout, stumbling as she tried to maintain her equilibrium, her two baskets of apples going rolling off into the desert around her. Luckily, the sand was soft enough that when she fell, the landing was relatively forgiving, and she sputtered as she looked up, spitting out clumps of sand, squinting at the bright and shining sun, and stared in confused shock at the sight of the tiny skyline of a distant city, iles away.

The words that came out of her mouth shortly afterward would have gotten so many double dollars in the swear jar!

What in the actual fu-...???

out and about

i. octovern, shopping

ii. octovern, be prepared for a small gaggle of children

iii. somewhere else? she may get dropped at?

again

iv. even wilder wild card

ooc: choose your own adventure

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.

Near the ruins of JuLai, after the trip to White Shield

[Late in the night, across the radio waves that could be reached from the transmitter in Rem's old station and when everyone else in the household would most likely be asleep, the device kicked on seemingly all by itself and began transmitting what sounded at first just like static. After a few moments, though, if one were to listen close enough, a voice that was familiar to some could be heard, faint, as if coming from down a hallway. Operating this thing was strange for him, and manipulating the energies to get it to work the way he wanted wasn't quite the same as what he was used to when he was just speaking out loud, but he was doing his best.]

Hey, Needle-Noggin. Really startin' t'miss you over here. We were on the road to Home the last time I saw you. The Earthquakes started and knocked us down. I think you saw me, just before I disappeared. You hadn't done that before. Not since December. It's been a long time. I'm sorry. Anyway, I looked for you for a while, but...I found others, first. A couple different versions of you, another me, a sweet lady who I think you'd be happy to see. Things have been happening over here, though, people have been gettin' hurt, and...I can't really help 'em much, but I don't want to leave, yet. I'm worried something'll happen to 'em if I do, but...I'm startin' to worry that somethin' might happen before I find you again, too. I'm really hopin' you can hear this out there. None of the You I've seen have been right. They don't have the little bits of grey hair near your ears. They're all too young. I know even if you do, you might not believe it's me. Might think it's one of the other ones that're runnin' around. I'm here, though. An' if you wanna come find us, I can explain. I think at this point, I owe you that much, for the little scare I must've given you out in the desert. Look for a little radio station with a house attached to it, on the outskirts of the ruins of July. I know, terrible location, but I don't think they knew where it was when they originally built it. If you see the little cross made out of a couple of nails hangin' from the porch railing, then...just...I dunno. Sit with me. I'll be nearby. No drinks this time, though, it doesn't do anything for me anymore. Otherwise, just give a shout. Someone should be able to hear you. There's people wandering in an' out a lot. Kids you might recognize, old faces you haven't seen in a long time. I don't really do much sleepin' anymore, so there should be someone awake to meet you, whenever you get in. Uhhh...I guess...Punisher? Signing off.

[The crackle of static continued for a few more seconds before the device shut back down. It had been intentionally vague, yes; the last thing he wanted was to alert every bounty hunter on the planet that his old man was headed to JuLai, especially not since it would put an entire family of innocent people in danger. He hoped his voice was enough, that the old nickname and that stupid code name he'd been given, would all be enough to tell the people who needed to know just who was talking, and who the message was for.

Either way, for a good portion of the days that followed, a tiny cross made from a couple of construction nails tied together with twine - a simple enough thing for him to manage on his own - could be seen dangling from the railing of the porch. Anyone who sat down near it wouldn't realize it until he spoke up, but Wolfwood was sitting against the wall behind it, near the door, watching for anyone who might have followed the directions and come by for a visit.]

a new arrival

i. december

ii.desert walking

Everyone had left. So he had to go somewhere else. He had no idea where, but. He'd managed to find a wide brimmed hat, and had added to his shopping bag whatever supplies he had. And he was walking to the next town he had seen on the maps. Which he'd also taken. There would be someone somewhere, right?iii. octovern

iv. wildcard

ooc: have another idea? he'll pop up there! brackets and prose all good, will match.

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.

A playdate for the childrens! ..The littlest ones, anyway.

[He'd called ahead and made arrangements, just in case.

Tessla deserved people her own age to play with, her own species even, and the twins ... well, they did too. The future would be what they made it to be, but until then they should get the chance to be children, and playtime ended for him when he dropped the entire fleet out of the sky. They deserved to be taught the things they'd need to know to survive here, not find it out through miserable trial and error.

So, on the appointed day, Knives turns up in his battered stolen vehicle, and idles a bit away from Rem's home, leaning once more against the door and watching the shape of her home. Near enough to be seen and heard, but not enough to be considered anything like willing to hang around and say hello over a cup of tea. Not near enough to be an immediate threat, either. Not anymore, not with his primary weapon these days left home for Tessla just in case.

Tessla hasn't come, too unwilling to be anywhere NEAR humanity, but she'd be there when they got back. As much as he'd already accepted the presence of a little, young, charmingly naïve Vash, the idea of seeing himself that young sat a little stranger. There were a good half-dozen Vashes on the planet now. Why were there only two of him?

Concerns for another time. There were children to pick up, he'd already gotten enough supplies for them for a handful of days; it wasn't likely they'd linger much longer than that with an anxious Rem waiting at home.]

[ a song from land and sky ]

[ it's like a song that few others can hear. ]
[ enthralling, ephemeral, infinite. there was no death, there's only me. ]
[ and there's only ever been ME for a very long time. ]

[ hello, Noman's Land, can you hear me? we've been together for a really long time, haven't we? this was our planet, our home, for centuries and millennia it's only ever been us, and then all of a sudden it WASN'T just us--it was them. Plants, humans. there was so much more noise, and everything got so, so exciting. different. there was more food, there was more to watch, to see. rather than just ME there was MORE, and while maybe a different species may be upset at being invaded, having parts of yourself hunted, eaten, locked in cages, it was a change for Zazie.
And Zazie loved change.

And it's happening again.
There's something changing in the sands of Noman's Land, and it feels like they've been asleep for a long time.

For any residents of Noman's Land, you may be greeted with a great rumble, a great tremor under the sands that haven't been felt in weeks since the sky split open and many were spit out here.
But there's something new, there's a voice, and there's something in the atmosphere that Zazie doesn't understand.

And Zazie wants to understand, so badly.

Wherever you are, in the cities, in the towns--there's suddenly going to be a boom of insect activity. Worms flying around in the air as if they're searching for something. Great sand worms coming up from their seemingly infinite depths in the sand.

Maybe you're even one of the lucky ones to Catch a white-haired kid dancing through the streets of whichever town pleases them best.
Maybe they'll even try to catch your eye on purpose, and wave--

After all, you're all old friends of theirs, aren't you? All of you interesting little creatures who crawl around on the skin and bones of THEIR planet.

Maybe you'll even be one of the lucky ones to have Zazie sitting in your window at night.
Sitting upon your car as it idles at a gas station during the day.

And maybe, once they understand how to use communicators, they'll even buzz their cryptic little messages over the network: ]

Something fun is coming.

I wonder how many people are gonna get in trouble this time.

Can't you feel it?
The air sings.

Like how I sing.

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.

( TW: Gore, dead bodies, cannibalism once removed. )

In and around Octovern

1. Initial Arrival – CW: mention of Body Horror in last paragraph

For five years Vash has lived in a dystopian city. He's experienced weather changes, met other non-humans, he built a home with his twin from the future until that brother suddenly vanished one day, and for five years that impossible to explain in words link he shares with his sisters has been silent. Five years isn't a long time for a Plant, but it's still been a lonely five years. So when he stepped through a door with the promise of returning back to the point in time he was taken from without any memories of the last five years? Vash wasn't expecting to be overwhelmed so quickly.

He was expecting to be back in his cell in the Ark with no memories of the last five years. Only he remembers everything and he was dumped inside of Octovern. What has happened? Something clearly hasn't gone right. Then he can sense his sisters-- is that all his sisters??? In a rush of excitement he reaches out mentally towards them. How he's missed his family, but so many all at once turn out to be overwhelming.

There are startled shouts from the people around Vash as he lets out a scream. Clutching at his head, eyes white, and tendrils of feathers starting to grow out from his neck, hands, and around his face. While it was all warm and welcoming there was so much of it that Vash was beginning to loose himself in the wave of connection he was now feeling.

2. Oh yeah... those double suns

So, this wasn't what he was expecting. Not that he was looking forward to being a prisoner again, but arriving back home with things feeling off was not what Vash had been expecting. Was this some sort of trick by the city he had been in? This wouldn't be the first time it's tried to play on his emotions and memories of home.

Probably best he lay low for a bit. Vash makes the decision to leave the big city of Octovern where so many people are talking about the 'red brother' at the moment. Packing what he thinks he needs he heads out in the direction he remembers a small town was in. He's hoping it's not abandoned as he makes his way there.

Except he had forgotten how bad two suns can be at midday. Even with his coat full of lost technology it's getting unbearable. “Oh man, maybe I should have splurged for a ride.” He's going to aim for a rock he sees in the distance. Hoping to hide under what little shade it can offer.

Or maybe find him face down in the sand. He's a little out of practice with this desert life living.

3. Laying Low?

Somehow Vash makes it to the town he plans to lay low in. If you can call the rumours going around that there is a newly hired broom head, red wearing, bartender who goes by the name Eriks as laying low. He's in a small town not too far from Octovern where he thought it would be a good place to get some information as people make their way to and from the major city. Some people suspected at first that he might be that Vash the Stampede guy, but with the way 'Eriks' cries when he gets a splinter they don't seem to think that anymore.

“Hey there!” He greets the person who just entered the bar he's working at before he even gets a good look at them. “What can I get you?”

Somewhere between July and December

1.
[ It wasn't the fastest car he'd ever driven, but it made better time than the old man's shitty station wagon had, and it was definitely faster than walking across the desert. None of the maps he'd found tucked under the seat had Hopeland on them, which was worrisome as all hell, but on one of the maps there was an orphanage marked, just off of a city called December.

The ghost he'd talked to on that mountaintop had told him he'd die in December, but that ghost had also ruined his last cigarette, so fuck that guy. If he died, he died, but first, he was going to make sure Miss Melanie and the kids were okay.

The sedan hums its way across the desert, kicking up a dust cloud that can be seen for miles. ]

2.
[ With a shudder and a hard jolt, the car comes screeching to a halt, the dash going dead as the engine seizes up. Wolfwood swears, punches the dash, then swears again when the solid dash nearly breaks his hand for his trouble. He'd managed to get the car hotwired, but apparently cars in this messed up version of Noman's were more different from the ones he knew than he'd realized. Is it out of oil? Out of charge? Not like he can do anything about it, whatever the problem.

Please ignore the man in black, standing next to a very dead car in the middle of absolute nowhere and screaming at the sky. It's therapeutic profanity, and it really is helping. ]

3.
[ Sunburned and exhausted, Wolfwood crests the hill and finally, there before him, sees the building that his map identifies as the December Orphanage. Even from a distance it's clear that the chaos that's affected the rest of the planet hit here, too -- there's clear bullet holes in at least one side of the building, walls that have collapsed, and the whole place seems as deserted as everywhere else he's been.

But he's here now, so he might as well have a look around.

He really wishes he still had his Punisher, though. ]

The Inn at December [CW; will contain desecration of a grave in tags]

Waking up the morning after drinking enough alcohol to kill a Toma was rarely an enjoyable event, even for Wolfwood. So when the light from the suns blazing in through the window finally managed to rouse him, he groaned, turning his head to bury it in the mattress underneath him. He wanted to roll over and shove his head under the pillow, but moving was...weird. He felt too hot, uncomfortable, like the blankets were wrapped too tightly around his limbs.

There was a moment of confusion before the vague memories of what had happened the night before began creeping into his consciousness, and at first he felt...hollow. Empty. Guilty for the trouble he'd caused. But the more he lay on the bed, the more the memories creeped in, until the hazy memories of the two of them finding him in the bar downstairs and making their way back up to the room for a proper sleep finally sank in, and he breathed in a sharp breath that made him groan all over again.

"Mmmmr...Needle-Noggin? Blondie?" He reached out with the arm he wasn't laying on top of - and the way that one felt like it was probably asleep was not a pleasant thing - slapping around the bed in search of the man he remembered dozing off against, and eventually his hand slapped against what felt like...an ankle? He felt the fabric of tight, knitted fabric over warm skin, and for a moment it made him relax into the bed again. "Mmmr...hey."

He patted the limb in drowsy greeting before reaching out again. One Vash down, the other to go? But even as he patted around, he dimly wondered if the other one had even gotten into the same bed, or if he'd taken another. He turned his head, blinking at the room through barely-opened eyes, only to find it empty, and his hand came up empty no matter where he searched.

That was when he decided he needed to just grin and bear the headache that was throbbing behind his eyes, and he turned, shifting, lifting his head to look around for the other man in the same moment he realized the claustrophobic feeling was from wearing his suit to bed, and found himself staring blearily at a bed that only held himself and the fluffy-haired, soft-spoken Vash he'd been traveling with for the past few months propped up against the headboard, and not the Vash he'd left behind in December.

"Morn'n'." He rolled over, bewildered, shielding his face enough that the light didn't completely blast his retinas and seer an apple-sized hole in his brain, and realized dimly that they were the only two people in the room.

He was gone.

He suddenly felt as if a bucket of rocks had been dumped right into his stomach, his head dropping back heavily and the arm he'd been using to shield his eyes dropping across his face.

Of course he was gone.

He wasn't sure if he was too tired, too hungover, or some combination of the two. It was taking him too long to work up the ability to think about what that actually made him feel. He knew it would kick in eventually. He wasn't looking forward to it.

(no subject)

Vash really... thinks he should be okay. Other than Wolfwood leaving the way he did, the rest of his time in this place has brought him so much that he never thought or expected he could have.

Rem.

Nai.

Knives.

Delphinium, and everyone else over there.

Tessla.

So much of that, he's not only never dared to hope for, he hadn't conceived that it was possible. He should be happy. He should be at least content, and focusing on what called them here, on what he could do.

But he's really just utterly exhausted, in ways that go beyond the physical. Just thinking about doing anything makes him cringe at the certainty that he can't help anyone or anything. So mostly he's just sitting near Rem's house, knees drawn up, and staring out over the desert, towards JuLai. He should talk with Rem about maybe going to stay with Delphinium, or at least meat her, explain to her about Tessla too. He should talk with the ghost of Wolfwood. He should likely check if she needs more supplies here. He should spend time with Nai. He should go to Octovern and find out what help is needed. He should find out if Home was okay, too, for that matter.

And he can't make himself do any of these things, the thought of reaching out to anyone just hurting with the certainty of his uselessness.

He doesn't even hum at himself, not judging himself deserving of that comfort.