angelictyphoon

[angelictyphoon]

holding you together

[angelictyphoon]

@dune-rider | Roberto

"You, sit. Drink, now." The stoccato series of commands came with a heavy laden hand on Vash's shoulder to bring him down to the bar stool where a set of two frothing mugs of beer were waiting. Sometimes it was good, no, necessary to slow down and take a night off... especially with the sort of shenanigity that this poor sod seemed to drag Meryl, and by extension, himself into.

Once in motion, always in motion. He tries his best to adhere to his own rules, but sometimes reality has other plans in mind.

The hand on his shoulder is an anchor, mooring him before he has a chance to take even two steps toward the exit. He could brush Roberto's hand away, ignore him and whatever character investigation he has stewing and slip off into the desert without them.

Well, he's tried that too, and so far that hasn't gone so well.

So Vash sits, petulantly, heavily, with a whumpf when he drops onto the top of the split top of the cushioned stool. His shoulders droop. He sighs. Up, the mug travels to his lips as he chugs the entirety of its contents in one go.

"Can I go now?" Tooth-achingly polite. Maybe a little puppy-eyed.

[angelictyphoon]

revisiting an image i made a full year ago (!) because i'm quite fond of how the wings came out but wanted to a fix a few other things that were bugging me. i like to think the long feathery eyelashes would be good for keeping sand and other nasty stuff out of his eyes 😁

[angelictyphoon]

“Yeah.”

A second or two passes in silence, Vash’s mind is elsewhere, another world, another time, there and back again with a quiet sigh. Old adages, safety in numbers, the wisdom of the collective– Wolfwood is right. Vash knows he’s right. Stubbornly, idiotically, inevitably, he also knows that he’ll ignore all of Wolfwood’s arguments anyway. He’s already made up his mind. 

Nothing outweighs the terror of watching Wolfwood get hurt on his behalf or worse. So the next best option is to avoid that possibility altogether. 

Whatever they may face beyond Summer’s Bluff is not entirely unknown, but a dramatic uptick in ‘attacks’ against hybrid Plants will not go unnoticed by whatever governing bodies hold power in this world. 

And he will assuredly be guilty.

No, Wolfwood is safer here, searching for their companions and finding more information about the state of this supposed eden for mankind.  

His lips form the shape of a brittle smile.

“Yeah…I know. Just thought I’d check.” Vash would have liked not having to live with the guilt of lying through his teeth if Wolfwood indeed changed his mind for whatever reason, but most of his plans don’t often work out the way he wants them to.

“If anyone we know is here, we’ll find them.” 

What they will do when that happens is another problem entirely. 

Even aboard the fastest sandsteamer, it could take weeks to get from here to May City. Plenty of time in between for distractions or newly unearthed leads to chase and more importantly, opportunity to slip away when Wolfwood could no longer maintain his constant vigilance. If they could just manage to get aboard Ship 3, he could disappear down a service chute before Wolfwood even realized that Vash had gone.

Onward then, to business. If he remains an object in motion then there won’t be any time to stop and ponder the despair and guilt permanently bound to his ankles.

“Can’t take more than a couple days for us to grab a shuttle to Ciudad Marza and hike up to where Ship 3 is, for starters.” 

He glances about the park one last time, marveling at the ephemeral beauty of the flowering trees, the sprouted grasses hugging the stone paths, and the waving tree boughs. Leaving his place behind won’t be so hard. The endless expanse of gleaming desert dunes reminds him most of home, and the journey across it is an intimately familiar one.

“We’ll go together.”

Nick watches Vash's expressions and mannerisms in the way only he can know how; even with his incredible ability to read Vash-isms, he can't parse the emotion the man feels when he touches Ship 5 on the map. It's something like... dread, or hope, or concern, or... he doesn't know. He supposes that a world where everything went according to plan, or mostly anyway, would mean ghosts from his past still being around... but different.

Yeah, that's about how he'd feel about it too.

And then—

"GHK—" Wolfwood turns red at the grip of Vash's arm around his neck. Not only is it embarrassing to be corrected on his attempt at a different language, but getting manhandled like this by Vash—any Vash—is... well...

Anyway.

He shakes Vash's arm off.

"Didn't we talk about this already? I want to help." Despite whatever he wants, Wolfwood has an idea of what Vash is planning to do... more or less. He won't lie to himself—the idea of getting stuck out in this weird world with all the hybrid plants alone gives him the chills. Maybe that alone will get Vash to stick with him.

Wolfwood sighs, taking his time to respond by forcing Vash to wait for him to light up a smoke before responding. "No, it's not my job. Splitting up is a shitty idea, especially with somethin' this dark stewing underneath the pretty pink paradise."

He glances at the out of place Punisher that he stood up beside them.

"I can defend myself just fine, but it seems like things are a little different than a lawless land of outlaws and bandits. If either of us gets arrested, or caged, or worse, how will anyone know?" Nick scrunches his face and purses his lips with his next drag, "Us stickin' together isn't just about workin' together, you know. It's safety. The others could've landed... anywhere. The world is huge and populated—practically unrecognizable."

Humming in thought a moment, he continues, "For all I know, if they got me—which they won't—they'd probably... well... I've been told that I'm very compatible with whatever they put me through for me to be like this. I can only assume this is something similar..."

Oh. Oh no.

"Wait—if the me here is like me, if he exists, they wouldn't just use him as an assassin. Oh, God—that man is doomed, shit." For some reason, Nick feels a pang of responsibility hooking his heart, and it's telling him he's gotta save this one. This one should be the one that ends up normal and happy, not...

He taps his fingers against the table anxiously, thinking.

"Maybe they didn't find him here," he hopes idly as he stands up to pace, "Fuck—we have to... I don't know. If there's a Wolfwood here, we need to find him. We need to find both of them."

The idea of needing to mercy kill himself is... unappealing, to say the least.

[angelictyphoon]

Veneration does not beget acceptance. Hybrids are honored for their sacrifice by the spoken word but the circumstances of their creation are a cruelty in of itself. Do the Independents of this world work alongside humanity by their own volition or because they are made to? His brother had believed coexistence to be fundamentally impossible. 

“Maybe.” Not enough information to form an opinion one way or another, and the beginnings of what he does have does not bode well. 

An extensive steamer network connects all the major cities and then some, allowing travelers to avoid the typical risks of desert travel. Vash’s eyes move across the various start and end points, mapping them against the long defunct settlements of his own home. Any one of these towns must be unbelievably populous, thrumming with conversation, workers, children, hawkers, panhandlers. Reminiscing ends with a wince as Vash follows the movement of Wolfwood’s finger over Ship 5. 

“...You could say that. That’s the ship my brother and I were born on.” If some version of himself existed in this world, it’s entirely possible they would meet him there. Knives, too…And then there’s Rem. The thought of even catching a glimpse of her sends an unexpected pang through his chest as he listens to the entire recording with a frown. “If that’s the case…Then it might really be Ship 5 that we want.”

No reason they can’t look into Ship 3 while they’re in the area.

They ought to wait for the others to catch up, but amongst the group Vash doubts anyone is lacking in their ability to track down the humanoid typhoons. 

“Wait, what did you just say?” Vash blinks, looking back at Nick and running the statement back in his head. He slings an arm around Wolfwood’s neck, lassoing him in close with a laugh. “Ciudad Marza, huh? Since that’s the nearest major station, that’ll be our ticket out of town!”

Gazing back down at the maps spread over the surface of the table, Vash somberly places his hand over Ship 5. Staring at the label above his fingers does little for the tightness in his chest. 

Even traveling by sandsteamer, such a journey could still take them the better part of the month. It’s not too late for Wolfwood to turn back, attempt to regroup with the others. He has his own Meryl and Vash to look after, and Vash as of yet hasn’t been able to drive that point home.

“Wolfwood…” He already asked once, but it bears asking for confirmation but hoping for something else entirely. He doesn’t care how easy of a read he presents. Wolfwood has a knack for hearing what remains unsaid. “Are you really sure about this? It’s not like I’ll just up and disappear, y’know.” 

Vash starts rolling up the maps. “Look, if they get angry at you, you can just tell ‘em I gave you the slip.”

Sneaking off has occurred to him more than once since they left the modified Plant room. He still could, then they could all be equally mad at him instead of at Wolfwood. 

“It isn’t your job to follow me around anymore.”

The attendant dips just barely out of view and reveals a southern piece of the map with... much, much fewer details than the rest of it. There appears to be just a single black dot amidst blank desert and ornate flourishes—which seem to distract the viewer from looking at the detail, perhaps even cover it up. Nick's not exactly sure where the equivalent would be in his own version of Noman's Land (it's been a while since he's been there), but it doesn't seem... correct.

He returns his focus to the rest of the map, where large cities appear to accompany symbols of spaceships. In between, or along travel routes, there are smaller cities and towns indicated with smaller black dots. A red arrow indicates the city that they're currently in: "Summer's Bluff." A ship is nearby, but not directly next to the town. It does, in fact, appear to be Ship-03. Next to it is a city that Nick has never heard of: "Ciudad Marza." In parentheses is the English counterpart: "March City"

Huh. He supposes it makes sense that there'd be more than the Seven Cities if everything went according to plan. It'd also make sense that more Earthen culture survived, as is proven by several other city names in languages that Wolfwood doesn't recognize, some with entire letters that he doesn't recognize.

A prerecorded voice responds to Vash's inquiry before Nick can chime in, "Thanks to the blessed work of our Independent Angels, we are gifted with Sight and Knowledge of the Land, for they outstretch their Heavenly wings to perceive beyond the Horizons they have granted us."

It repeats itself, he assumes, in another language; the answer in text form lights up on a monitor nearby.

"Glad to see the weird... angel thing... worship... is still around," he grumbles sarcastically, "But hey, that's a good clue, right? Some independents go around making maps. It's not much but it's something."

The recording ends with a whir and a click, just in time for the attendant to return bearing printed maps. Quickly shuffling through them, it appears that there's one of Summer's Bluff, one of the explored territory—the one that was on the screen, and one that displays colorful routes and what appear to be terminals. It's similar to a steamer route map, but much more detailed. Each line appears to have more stops than a steamer back home would, except for several brighter colors that form a straight line from city to city.

Every city appears to have a direct line to a central city—one that Wolfwood does recognize: "May City."

It's... not in the same place as the May City he knows of. It's also much bigger than the one he knows of, perhaps even bigger than the JuLai he knows of. Well, every city appears to be bigger than JuLai, but still...

Nick points at May City, then looks to Vash, "This one looks important—May. It's next to... Ship-05, looks like. Was that an important one?"

Again, a recorded voice speaks up—feminine this time and higher quality, "Our capital is May City, home to our diverse cultures and the first in line to receive breakthrough technological advances. It is also home to several colleges and academies for aspiring minds who hope to join one of our prestigious SEEDs research teams!"

He narrows his eyes at the smiling robot, unappreciative of the interruption, even if he should be appreciative for the information. The robot seems unaffected.

"...Anyway," Nick picks up the maps but doesn't fold them away yet as he steps towards an empty park table and bench, "Ship-03 is the one we could see from the outdoor bath. I assume, uh, Key-yoo-dad Mar-za is over there too. Looks like a steamer line—or whatever they're called here—goes from here to... that city... and another one goes straight to May from there, if we want to check out the capital."

[angelictyphoon]

The jogger who seems to have relaxed somewhat now that he doesn’t see an immediate need to fear for his life or his belongings. Vash and Wolfwood seem too equally clueless to be threatening, and Vash in particular has attempted to capitalize on his pathetic wet cat look. Hiding a grimace behind his fingers, the jogger gives them both a little wave and takes off before Vash can open his mouth and ask another question. “Well, see ya! Good luck with your ship thing!”

Vash blinks after the man’s retreating backside, takes several steps in reverse, then abruptly bounds over to Nick’s side and joins him in investigating the kiosk’s robotic attendant. 

“Guess so,” Vash agrees, having never felt further (and farther) from calling Earth home in his life. If Rem’s mission had been successful, if the Big Fall had never happened, then maybe this was the best outcome they could have hoped for. Even if certain products of the SEEDS scientists’ work makes his stomach twist itself into horrible knots. 

He offers Nick an appreciative smile as they step up to meet the booth’s cheerful tenant.

The attendant is fully housed by a dark, polychrome structure with a pale, scallop-shelled roof. A “:)” greets them on the vibrant, liquid crystal display mounted onto the robot’s equivalent of a head. A torso, arms, and hands, cased in a pearly carapace of all curves and no edges, are visible from the cut out window. Vash assumes there are also legs somewhere in the picture, out of view.

“Uh…” 

He squints, lips pulled inward, with great intensity at the smiley face.

Does it matter whether or not they greet the attendant? Should they just jump straight to their query? That would just be plain rude in any case regardless of who or what they were looking at, so…

“Hi there.”

The attendant’s screen refreshes, replacing the pleasant emoticon with a message. ‘Hello!’ 

It gestures down at a series of buttons with backlit reliefs beneath the kiosk window: soundwaves in front of a person’s mouth, raised dots for touch communication, and a solid sun and its inverse.

“Oh, that's very thoughtful! I think we'll be okay though. My friend and I–” This much context was probably unnecessary, Vash realizes in the midst of his introduction.  He continues valiantly nonetheless.

“We’d like to see some maps of the area. Maybe even some print outs? If that’s possible?” He continues phrasing everything like a question, because he has no idea what sort of response they might get back.

The robot makes an affirmative dinging noise, steps back (giving Vash a chance to marvel at the fact that it does have legs), then pulls down a rolled up screen. A mechanical chugging, clacking noise from behind the screen also sounds promising.

“Wow…This is insanely detailed. They must have had probes scanning the local geography for ages. Or maybe even manned teams on foot?”

Nick does, of course, give Vash that Look—the one reserved specifically for Vash-isms and stupid ideas—but there's an element of fondness behind it. Vash may be saying stupid things, but it's distracting them both from the horrors of this utopian society, so he'll let it pass.

Besides, he's grown to love the stupid Vash-isms.

"Yeah, you're so dashing they can't even snap a picture of you to begin with," he responds playfully. Nick's pretty sure the only one who is capable of getting a clear shot of Vash the Stampede is Meryl, but he supposes the same could be said about himself... just for different, shame-related reasons.

Still, he watches the cogs turn in the Independent's head. It seems like he might've stumbled upon a good idea when Vash starts asking people about Ship-03. It's a damn good thing this seems to be a tourist town, otherwise Vash's lack of knowledge might've raised a few suspicions. While he accosts strangers on their morning walks, Nick spots an information booth that seems to sell tourist info.

With a quick nudge, Wolfwood pardons his interruption, "Sorry for buttin' in—Needles, gonna check out that booth over there. Not sure if they're open or not, but it could be a better tactic than botherin' this fellow."

"Oh, those booths? They're open all day, every day," the man nods towards the kiosk, "If y'all are fresh from Earth, they'll help you more than I can. I'm pretty new to Noman's too. They're run by robots, but they're pretty damn smart and can answer any question you might have thanks to the SEEDS database. Pretty nifty stuff."

Well, that's a convenient alibi.

The man carries on, unbothered by Nick's confusion with the new information he provided the duo. Even in the early hours, it looks like they can seek answers to their questions—assuming this database is all it's chalked up to be.

"I guess we're from Earth, then," Nick shrugs, trying to remain steady in the face of every new fact they learn, "Let's see if we can't get a hold of some maps, yeah? If the planet hosts off-worlders, we can probably even get a world map."

A light breeze rustles the colorful flowers on either side of the fork in the path. It's a shame that this world has such a high cost—it really is beautiful. The younger Wolfwood grips Vash's shoulder in a comforting gesture, gives him a small shake, then shoves both hands in his pants pockets as he continues down the path towards the kiosk.

[angelictyphoon]

Does this count as taking, to reach out and make a space for himself (or wiggle into one, in this case) uninvited? They are neither innocent nor ignorant and they’ve never made a habit of asking permission except when it was too late to ask. Vash loops an arm around Wolfwood’s knee and tilts his chin into the back of his own hand, neither innocent nor ignorant now no matter how convincing his pout may be. He ceases his wiggling at the very least, sparing them of other basic torments.

The stupid, juvenile glee of affirmation he can revisit another day.

“Know me?!” Astonished, Vash sits up and butts his head up beneath Wolfwood’s jaw hard enough to rattle his teeth. “We just met!”

He would absolutely manage every single one of those things like crossing off a checklist at the grocery store, of course. No terrestrial vehicle stands a chance in the hands or proximity of such a profoundly humanoid disaster. Vash knows it and Wolfwood knows it, and having any certainty at all out here past the cover of a silent orphanage makes him tear up into breathless laughter. 

Gently dabbing away tears with the backs of his fingers, Vash marvels over the idea of now and next and together to the point of purring small ripples through the sand surrounding them. 

“Mmn, a paint job could help,” he agrees. “Something with stripes, maybe? Like a zebra! And purple. Y’know, to match the fuzzy dice.” As if anyone who had ever been born on No Man’s Land had even conceived of the concept of a zebra. Begrudgingly, Vash slumps into Nicholas’s chest. 

“...I guess it won’t be so bad.” 

Especially since he’s not riding alone. He could have boarded without needing (much) convincing or someone to hold his hand along the way if truly pressed for choice, but he’d never been well-prepared when it came to goodbyes and all their finalities. The version that he’d rehearsed couldn’t have been more different, more at odds to everyone waiting for him now.

“Still feels weird,” Vash admits quietly. Like he was supposed to die here eventually, but fate had other plans in mind and never bothered to loop him in on any part of it. “It’s…I can’t just leave forever. I have to come back.”

Someday. Whether there’s anyone that remains, whether they need him or not. 

“My brother’s still out there. In a century…He’ll return.”

How is it that even here, even now, Vash manages to fit perfectly in the spaces afforded to him? Nicholas has one leg crossed over the other one dangling down the short half-wall to the dunes below their perch, and somehow the noodly gunman situates himself just-so.

Wiggles spark something. Contact does too. Wolfwood tenses his jaw and bears it, restraining a response in a way that is its own response, and there is precious little that he can do to conceal that. How can one hide an issue that is a non-issue from someone as perceptive as Vash the Stampede?

Question for the ages.

No matter the world, it seems.

"Like hell I'm lettin' you up there on Angelina. Knowin' you, you'd manage to kickstart her and careen off to God knows where ass-over-teakettle. Don't want you scratchin' the paint," he grouses, leveraging this change in posture to jam his chin down atop Vash's freshly-braided crown with a huff and a glower that is far more of a squint, but what does it matter anyway since nobody is around and about to look at them and there are no mirrors outside of the dreaded transport's for miles?

Yeah, that's the ticket.

And so what if he lets his arms relax around Vash's midsection? It is as natural as anything, just a convenient place for his limbs to come to rest.

It eases the pressure on his back, at that. The lack of weight there is something else entirely. The Punisher was not a necessary haul to this lonely escarpment where the past is silent except for the susurrus of curious worms' wings and the whisper of sand over rows of graves. The dust has settled in on the ruins of Hopeland.

Shadows and salt.

There is nothing for him here, just as there is nothing for Vash here. It is a wonder that he has even agreed to come along at all.

"Took a minute gettin' used to it," he relents, clearing his throat and allowing his voice to rumble wry, shaped with slightly parted lips and the glint of teeth despite everything. "Did the point-A to point-B job though. Might should find somethin' more suitable wherever we end up next. Little lady can barely reach the pedals even with block boosters."

Tap-a-tap his fingers drum on something, idle, familiar, even if maybe he shouldn't act so familiar. Haunted, they are, both of them.

Haunted and determined to live on.

"Suppose we paint it. Somethin' to go with the fuzzy dice."

[angelictyphoon]

Vash is the very picture of rapt attention– and he is, even if he offers poor Meryl the grace of not having his immediate eye contact as Milly happily boasts away her friend’s relentless investigator’s acumen. She deserves every ounce of praise, of course, with a blind eye turned to the entire notion that Meryl wouldn’t be out traipsing in the desert if not for him in the first place. 

Minor details.

“Busy!” Vash’s dark brows go on a journey of their own as Milly and Meryl trade back and forth about the town’s planned infrastructure and all their grand plans for it, to grow their new home and sustain it well into the future. He’d heard such rumors of deep groundwater, largely inaccessible from the surface when Zazie held dominion over swaths of caverns and tunnels that ran uncharted far into the planet’s crust. Even he knew better than to wander into places he wouldn’t be welcome, but if humanity were to find their place in this ecosystem going forward without fully relying on Plants, then…Well, Zazie was going to have to learn how to share.

“Hm…” He casts a glance about with an awareness of how fragile peace can be. His presence alone has shattered it more than once before, and the risk that he might bring chaos upon them now after everything to answer for crimes which the Federals and the Terrans have every right to charge him of weighs in the droop of his smile. 

Now isn’t the right time. 

Maybe in the future, when time has softened the severity of those accusations, when his mere existence doesn’t threaten everything Milly’s family has worked so hard to build here. Vash strokes Meryl’s hand gently with this thumb, then shakes his head.

“Staying out of trouble sure is the plan! Might go on a walk instead? Stretch my legs.” His belts jangle together as he juts out a leg and jiggles his foot. Vash pauses, squinting over promises of avoiding trouble and opting to make no comment. Despite the shootout, he’s spent more than enough time recuperating indoors or cooped up in a metal box bouncing off the dunes as they roll up and down the hills. “Or poke around those tunnels?”

Surely, no one here would mind if he went down and gave Zazie a little talking to before any major construction work went on down there.

Though Meryl has left an open schedule, he worries. Vash bends down in front of her, his lips pursed with a scrutinizing squint. Abruptly, he declares, “First, a break! Maybeee…banana sundaes?”

Without his steady hand against the small of her back, Meryl would have surely been eating dirt, face flat on the ground as Milly barreled forth and enveloped Vash in a tight embrace. There is still the matter of his bounty on his head and she does not want to think what the consequences would be if he was found out. 

Having passed that check point before entering the expanded city of Octovern, Meryl does not want Terrans and Federals coming at them, hot on their heels—not when she had spent months looking for him, holding onto a hope that seemed too fragile, too breakable, to let it all go to waste now. 

Milly seems to get the memo and offers a sheepish, apologetic expression and relaxes her stance now that both Vash and Meryl have got their feet on the ground.

She is positively beaming with the progress mentioned and nods her head, smiling that million double dollar smile.

“Meryl and I wasted no time in getting things in order. There were many people who no longer had a place to call home and the folks already living in Octovern were gracious enough to make room. Before we knew it, all hands were on deck expanding the city limits so that we could bring in more people.”

From her periphery, Meryl can spot movement beyond Milly’s shoulder and knows there is at least a Thompson or two lurking just before the doorway, curious as to who the newcomer is.

“Did she now?” Meryl can feel her cheeks heating up as the attention is centred on her and there is an urge to hide behind Vash’s back, but knows that Milly won’t allow that to happen.

“Meryl was very worried about you, Mr. Vash,” and this causes Meryl to do a sudden double take, like she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing and almost gestures for Milly to stop talking, but there is no stopping her.

“She was rather insistent she be out there, looking for you. Her detective skills are very impressive and I knew that she was the right person for the job!”

“Milly, please…,” Meryl’s half-hearted begging is brushed off as Milly recounts the day Meryl made the decision to go back out there and look for Vash, making a promise of returning if she found him or found solid evidence of his whereabouts.

There is a sigh of relief as the topic changes to the town, something she is keen to focus on as it means she is in the clear. At least for now.

“Seems like it will be,” Meryl chimes in, picturing the map clearly in her mind as she had memorized the topography. “Just the surface level for now, but we’re working on seeing if we can explore underground if it isn’t too hollow—”

“—especially if we’re looking to add canals and aqueducts. A few residents from Octovern mentioned there being a well, or some kind of large body of water underground.”

Meryl’s gaze drifts between Milly and Vash and she cannot help her own smile tugging at her lips seeing the crows feet at the corner of his eyes, the sort of lines that come with a lifetime, many lifetimes, of laughter, joy, sadness, grief. Milly sees it, almost immediately, and it is noticeable in the way her voice almost falters in its excitement, but the cheerfulness is still there, perhaps a little forceful.

“Speaking of which, I gotta help out with the upcoming shift with this well. You’re both welcome to stay here for as long as you like. My family would love to have you.” And, without missing a beat, Milly hops to, joining the few others who have begun making their way outside the city limits and into Octovern.

“Ready to meet the rest of the Thompsons?” Meryl turns to Vash, looking at the door before them. The two she had spotted earlier have gone, leaving the space empty but the sound of people living, of talking, can be felt and heard from where they stand.

“—We don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’s been rather a day, and I’m sure Milly and her family would understand.”

They are not quite alone, not like they had been in the truck she had that she drove to bring them to this place, but Meryl sidles closer to Vash, her hand reaching out to gently grasp his, entwining her fingers with his.

“We can do whatever you want. No expectations, no obligations here—other than keeping your head down and staying out of trouble.”

[angelictyphoon]

i'm alive! a little test run out in anime impulse for two days in my vash cosplay (picture stable =/= con stable). my friend helped me take photos and the lovely @yarnball_cos on twitter made my coat!

[angelictyphoon]

“You keep saying that like you think it’s true.” But saying it won’t make it so, Vash leaves unsaid. He shrugs, casting a glance aside in as much of an apology as he can muster for keen ears that could have pretended not to hear the mutters of a broody man. Cruel in the past-tense means that Wolfwood finally found another way and Vash merely carries out his responsibility to be a pain in the ass about it.

Vash rests an elbow on the palm of his prosthetic as he scratches at his temple, then slowly bobs his head as if an immense revelation just came to surface. “I’m starting to figure out that setting up expectations too early is probably dumb. They probably just don't know how dashing I look in a poster yet.” 

Maybe he looks the epitome of a man with a great many years of wisdom. Wolfwood is already starting to give him that look and Vash does not consider the self-satisfied grin on his face to be anything related to an actual contribution to their conversation. That doesn’t even begin to make up for the horrible guilt still pulling coils in his stomach, but it’s still something to have more than the silence of a desert graveyard answer his nonsense. He’s not alright, but he won’t say he is. Per the multiverse of Wolfwoods seems to dictate, he’d be flushed out in a heartbeat for even trying. 

The families pushing strollers down the cracked paths in the early light do not know, nor do the septuagenarians in their tweed hats feeding rock pigeons bread crumbs. 

They worship Plants.

They do not know.

Vash watches them all for a moment, passing between the flowering trees like a scene cut directly from humanity’s ancestral home. Then he breaks his gaze away, looking back to Wolfwood. The hybrid’s discordant song thrums in his memory. Luxuries can be taken away. A balance must exist, even if they have to find it. Even if they have to break the glass themselves. 

“Fixed points, huh…” Vash’s brow furrows as he shifts his weight restlessly from one foot to the next. “Ship Three–” he stops suddenly, his focus drawn elsewhere.

Opportunity comes running past, and Vash wastes no time abruptly launching himself in the path of a passing jogger before he has a chance to dodge around them. Forced to a sudden stop, the accosted stares at Vash with the wariness of a man who suspects he’s about to be mugged or zealously solicited. Vash claps his hands together, beseeching. “Hey! Please, would you happen to know where Ship Three is?”

"Tch," Nick chuckles briskly, then knocks into Vash with his side. Not enough to push the man over, just enough to make contact—friendly contact, not violent. While hitting him over the head and calling him an idiot is a valid reaction for Vash-isms normally, it definitely is not the play for today. Right now. "That's right old man, I'm the rudest and don't forget it."

... He's definitely not the rudest. He's probably the softest, despite how his adventure started.

"The others would want to help too. I'm just doin' what I know is right," Nick's voice is smooth as he stares at his own clasped hands, "They'll be fine without me for a while. 'Sides, not like I can go anywhere without the Cube, and, well, seein' as I don't see the wife anywhere... who knows when that'll be? Best we keep lookin' while we move. And..."

A slight break in conversation, a heavy ask.

"I won't tell the others. Ain't my place to tell 'em. About... about any of this."

Wolfwood doesn't address the 'not a cruel person' comments—not immediately. He pauses thoughtfully, perfectly still as he contemplates. Broods? Considers.

"I was a cruel person," he mutters under his breath solemnly, "Finding both of them would be a good start though—assuming they exist as we know 'em. Haven't seen any wanted posters about, so either your bounty doesn't exist here or this town's too far out."

Or... bounties just... don't exist here.

Nick hums thoughtfully, attempting to puzzle out where they should start their search. For himself? There are too many unknowns. This world seems to be some kind of paradise—he's not sure that he'd even be an orphan here. He's assuming any Wolfwood is an orphan, but who knows? Maybe in one universe his parents didn't fuck up.

As he looks to the rising suns for some sort of guidance, the giant SEEDS ship looms as a shadow in the horizon. That's right—all the ships are still intact. So if that's the case...

"Which ship did you ride on as a kid? Maybe we can ask around, see where it landed."

[angelictyphoon]

Across so many different worlds, their endings are infinite in the spectrum of devastating and uplifting. He cannot say that hope can ever be truly, definitely extinguished. Not for possibilities, even if not for himself. Even if death is. They do not know death to be the case until they do.

He smiles, the tightness in his chest lost somewhere to the coil of Meryl’s arms around his waist. Decades in the gap between their worlds and Meryl Stryfe remains to be the braver one between them no matter his age. Vash squeezes her arm gently. He closes the loop from his side, hands crossed and spread across her back as he leans down, lips to crown. 

“Me too,” Vash whispers against the tickle of soft black hair. They can wear the same guilt and fears together. 

His smile grows a little more self-deprecating. The wind continues to carry the desert past, moving and unmoving all around them. A moment of smallness, of their grief both that has been both dwarfed and amplified by the celestial bodies in the sky that have trapped No Man’s Land in their orbit. 

“Don’t cry.” He can feel the ghost of his own promises there, tearing against the fabric of memory and catching in his lashes when he closes his eyes for a brief moment to collect himself. “Shouldn’t have to remind you that you’re made of tougher stuff than me, Meryl Stryfe.”

The taste of salt is so familiar. It runs tracks down his cheeks. If they had all the answers, this wouldn’t be so hard. All these timelines full of bullet holes and things they should have done better, bruised and tender and somehow bandaged up again. 

“Even if we don’t make it–” Vash takes a shaky breath as they resume their walk. Sniffly and puffy-eyed, gathered up hiccups and sobs, interlaced fingers and all. “It was worth it. It is worth it. Every version of you, of Wolfwood, and all the others…”

We existed, we loved.

Possibility seems endless now that she’s had a glance of what can be achieved. Without even an inkling of how events would unfold as they did, Meryl is convinced that she would have remained in that cell until it was her turn to be sent to the gallows, Vash and Wolfwood’s whereabouts and if they were even alive unknown to her.

She at least knows a few more things now.

With some damn good conviction, she knows Wolfwood is within the Eye of Michael and Vash must be there, too. She is at least aware that getting in, even with this plan that feels half-formed, will not be easy but it seems there is no need to further convince the others. They’re doing this.

Meryl can’t explain it, but when she feels the press of his brow against her own, she holds her breath. It’s brief, yet the sensation of closeness endures, and it is instinctual that she closes her eyes rather than keeping them open. 

A moment where chaos has churned around them, this little blip of solace, of calm, is used as an anchor to weather the storms.

“Don’t do anything you would do, hm? Seems a bit late for that kind of advice,” she says upon an exhale and thinks of how she and Wolfwood followed Vash into their world’s Julai. “Before we got separated again, Nicholas and I realized that there were bounties sent out for us. Not huge amounts and we weren’t plastered over every town’s billboard or stuck into the wall on every bar or inn we came across, but we knew that was going to draw more unwanted attention.”

She gets up alongside him, wincing slightly as her body protests too much movement given the bruises. The rope markings around her neck are still sore, but she has refrained from touching the tender skin there. 

“There was a part of me, back then, where I would’ve just told myself to suck it up and keep moving forward. Compartmentalize. It worked, for a little while. Until it didn’t.”

She reaches out, her hand gently brushing against his, and she takes the plunge and wraps her fingers around his own, pulling herself to him as they begin their trek back to the others. There is a stillness about her as she considers her words, the air feeling a little heavy as Meryl asks him what has been weighing down upon her—even before this encounter.

”…I killed someone because they were part of a group that took those I loved most away from me. I have blood on my hands and I wish I didn’t but I couldn’t…I can’t…”

Courage is leaving her as her words fumble and her teeth catch her bottom lip, almost hard enough to break through skin.

”…I just don’t want you or the others to think less of me for the choices I’ve made and will continue to make.”

It rushes out of her like a gust of wind and she’s unable to help herself as her arms come to wrap around his middle, anchoring herself to him as she silently sheds tears. “I don’t know how all this works, how these worlds work or how they go to them…but I wish you didn’t have to suffer through what you did. I wish so much that we, no matter where we came from, despite the hardships, we’d make it.

”And I promised myself I wouldn’t cry anymore, but I’m breaking my own word and doing it anyway because, shit, this is so much.” She manages to get them out even with the bout of effort throughout all the hitched sobs and hiccups.

[angelictyphoon]

[angelictyphoon]

"Hey," Nick is hanging upside down off of the side of his hotel bed, a magazine with current events in his hands, "Did you ever do anything nice for your birthday?"

He knows that it's a touchy topic for Vash, and he can only assume it's even touchier right now in this world. Nick lets his arms both flop onto the ground, and the magazine fwip-fwips against the carpet. Curious silver eyes search the Independent, carefully watching body language in case he accidentally hurts him.

"Even though our Golden Boy isn't all that much of a fan of his birthday, Meryl insists on celebrating it. Guess I wanna bring that energy here since... she's not here to do it. But... I haven't exactly had the time to grab a present yet. Some Wolfwood I am, eh?" He chuckles softly, closing his eyes in thought.

Wolfwood hums, hoping he doesn't sound too insensitive, "For what it's worth, I like being around you. You're funny and sweet, even if you're an expert at slipping away from topics you don't wanna talk about. Which... I can only assume you're gonna do now. S'fine if you do, just wanna do somethin' nice for you tomorrow since you deserve it."

@forgivenpunishment (7)

@forgivenpunishment

“Hey,” Vash echoes right back, despite knowing exactly what’s going to come out of Nick’s mouth next.

After all this time, he should be less shocked that Wolfwood would ever try to preempt anything he’s about to do, which may or may not include a possible attempt at deflecting the topic of his birthday. Vash takes a glance at Wolfwood from his perch on the windowsill, one leg bent with his elbow propped against it.

‘Doing something nice’ implied that there was something to celebrate, and when was the last time he had anything worth celebrating on his birthday? Even in his own head that’s depressing…

He’ll save them both some time for once. It’ll be his birthday soon, after all. 

“Not for a long time.” 

Lifetimes ago, it feels like. He looks back out over the small island of rooftops in an ocean of sand. 

“Geez, Wolfwood. Don't you think ‘deserve’ is a strong word to use?” he tuts with a cluck of his tongue. There’s the slightest, subtlest smile in his voice nonetheless. “Since when have I ever said no to a good time?”

[angelictyphoon]

“Mm…” Unhurried, striking a note almost playful now that he has Nicholas at his mercy, Vash takes his time framing every stutter, every intake of breath that falls to a stifled hush. Watchful; and careful. The growing sheen on Wolfwood’s brow, the heave of his chest. Memorizing, mesmerized. With his attention previously elsewhere, Vash finally peers up at Nicholas with hooded eyes and a slight cant to his head as though he has just taken the time to actually, properly, understand the request. 

They weren't in a hurry before, but now Vash plainly, explicitly, happily makes a challenge of finding Nicholas's breaking point. Vash purses his lips, quirks a brow, sweeps his right hand up along the back of Nicholas’s thigh and follows his hand with a trail of kisses. 

“Alrighty, Mister Tough Guy.” 

Vash's aching pace does not waver in the slightest, even if his own need throbs and he keeps his gaze trained on Wolfwood’s face, the flashes of whiskey gold beneath long lashes.

“Mmm, so when should we have the ceremony? Who should we invite?” Vash gasps, but it’s hard to tell whether that’s because he’s retracted his feathers and gotten comfortable while lining up their hips instead. “Should it be a big wedding? A small, intimate affair? We need a photographer! Oh! And an open bar!” 

Lots to think about.

He leans forward, down, easy and slow for a kiss that comes with an irrepressible smile.

 “More importantly, am I allowed to be present for the dress fitting?”

A nest of feathers and wings is better than someone like Nicholas D. Wolfwood deserves. All of it is: the clothes of yesterday, the dust bunnies collecting against the baseboards, the rumple-tossed bedsheets crumpled around them. All of this is: the echoes of befores spiraling forward into afters, into tomorrows. Here he finds himself held, holding in kind, like something worthy of any consideration, like something worthy at all.

But the question was posed. And Vash said yes.

Another was posited. And Wolfwood enthusiastically accepted.

So, then, they are here. They are here and Wolfwood's mind swiftly smolders over into vital static, white noise from nape to coccyx, fingertips to toes.

"Yeah? What makes y'think it'd be- oh."

Oh.

There is an effortless strength in such precise gentleness and veritable suspension, and all that Nicholas can do is tense and relax. Trembling resistance yields to tender insistence, and so too does bravado. Some of it, at least.

Even without his prosthetic, Vash is encompassing, luminous in his own shadows, warmer than the daylight streaming through the blinds. There is something keen in his eyes, something intense, overwhelming as Wolfwood fights a keen lodged in his throat. It burns, just a touch. Aches, stretches, just a little, not enough to dampen his ardor entirely. It firms anew before long.

Under the gunman's watchful gaze, the priest errant burnishes and arches, biting off a velvety groan with his head dropped back and his jaw slackening.

So much, not enough.

"-not gonna break me, Tongari," he manages, if only barely, and maybe that isn't entirely true. Slow, slow. This sweet pace might just crack him apart.

[angelictyphoon]

She’s not going to mention how long she spent looking for this specific recipe, or how it took way longer to find the right ingredients—not only because of limited resources, but because whenever she planned on getting started something would come up and draw her away from what she wanted to be doing.

None of that matters now once she’s assembled, prepared and cooked everything.

The aroma of the broth and grilled worm meat fills the tiny room, steam fogging up the single window. She’s since come around to eating worm—but only if it is labeled as something else and is not obvious. A strange request but it is a workaround that works.

Meryl goes over the place setting once more to make sure everything is there and in order. Chopsticks? Check! Soup spoons? Check! Hoisin and Sriracha sauce? Check! She even managed to get a little plate and filled it with mint leaves and wedges of lime, making it the perfect ensemble of shades of green.

The two large bowls are served with rice noodles, then the assortment of vegetables, then heaping ladles of broth, with the meat cut lengthwise and placed on top in a near picture-perfect manner before everything gets mixed together when they’ll begin eating. Still, Meryl is rather proud of herself for pulling this off—and, of course, a box of specialty doughnuts are in the fridge for dessert, with one in particular decked out for Vash’s birthday.

She finds herself giddy with excitement, almost bouncing on the heels of her feet as she hears the door open and the familiar red coat comes into view, followed by the form of a tall figure with dark hair that is speckled with touches of blond.

“Happy Birthday, Va—OH MY GOD I FORGOT THE BEAN SPROUTS!!!”

Overcome with this failure, Meryl doubles over as she sinks to the floor, moans of grief leaving her at forgetting something so simple, yet so important.

“I’m horrible…I can’t believe I forgot the bean sprouts. And they were right there…” She gives herself a few more seconds of bemoaning this terrible fortune before looking up at Vash apologetically. “I forgot the bean sprouts. This was supposed to be perfect…and I ruined it.” She hangs her head and gives a really put-upon sniffle as her shoulders slump.

Dazed (and only somewhat deafened), Vash stands frozen in the doorway. Just for a second, until his words catch up with his senses and he shakes off his surprise with a pinky tweaking in one ear.

Meryl, meanwhile, has crumpled on the ground under the weight of her apparent failure. It’s not too late, of course. The damage isn’t irreparable. Vash shuts the door behind him and drops to a squat directly in front of Meryl. 

His birthday is a strange thing to celebrate, but that’s besides the point. 

Meryl has taken the time and the effort when he hasn’t even given the date a second thought. He inches closer and places both palms on the ground so he can lean down and invade her field of vision with a mischievous grin.

“Pssh, who needs bean sprouts? I got one right here!”

He drops a kiss on her forehead. 

“C’mon, it’s my birthday! No frowny faces, missy. And the noodles will get soft if we wait too long.”

[angelictyphoon]

"Sweet?" Vash shakes his head, "No, no. You misunderstand me, m'lady. I am giving you my utmost respect. As deserved."

He offers her a deep bow, but the smile is undeniably there in his voice.

@angelictyphoon replied to your post “"Next asshole to call me princess–" Except Nick or...”:

"It's your regal bearing. It's inescapable."

​"Don't you get sweet with me, mister." A huff. "But thank you, I appreciate your feelings."

[angelictyphoon]

“Dummy?!” Vash sniffs loudly and brings a curled finger up beneath his eye to wipe away an invisible tear. “How could youuu…Young people are so rude nowadays…” He whines, lowering his head and pressing his brow to the back of his hand to hide his sniveling.

Deflection and drama are not uncommon weapons for Vash the Stampede, even if the nail-scratching pitch of death continues to ring in his ears, sending ripples of gooseflesh down his arms. He could pretend to be unaffected, falsify a smile like he’s done so many times before, but Wolfwood never did tolerate that well. Perhaps none of them can. Opportunities to test the theory have not been forthcoming as of yet.

“I don’t think you’re a cruel person, Wolfwood.” Soft, quiet, Vash says his name and closes his eyes for a moment. He believes what he says. Truly. Solemnly. 

“Not you. Not any version of you.” 

Certainly, the Wolfwood Vash knew and traveled with was capable of a great many cruelties, exacted them more than once, but never as a first choice. Not when they were together, at least, and Vash knows exactly how culpable he is because of that shift.

“If some version of you or me exists in this world…Maybe they’ll find each other too. Maybe they’ll guide each other. Maybe we can help them.” Lots of maybes. He would not have been so dangerously hopeful if he’d been traveling alone, and he owes that in no small part to good company. 

Vash rubs at his eye again, only this time to find actual tears wetting the backs of his knuckles as he pulls his hand away. The death of every Plant hurts. The loss resonates deep, down into his bones, aches and pulls his pain taut, bled into a shared consciousness that comforts grief. Grief, human grief, has nowhere to go without anyone to give it to. The human-Plant had no understanding of either, but Vash hopes…

“Of course I want to fix it. I know you already said you’d help. Just…remember you have to live for the others, too. For your Vash and your Meryl. I’m just a selfish old man who’s trying to save everyone else the trouble.”

In the midst of a pause, Vash struggles internally. He has no right to ask, and still. “Can you…not tell the others right away? About me?” 

What I’m willing to do?

Silence on the bench allows Nick the time he needs to review the events that just happened and to take a breath. As mentioned earlier, he lights up a cigarette with a flick-toss into a backwards ignite. He still uses the lighter with the Eye of Michael engraving. Thinking on it, he should really consider getting a new one... but this one is so nice...

Maybe when he gets better at the whole... jewelry making thing... he can figure out how to fix it up.

Putting it aside, Nick then focuses on Vash's words, listening somberly. Only once he finishes speaking does he add to the conversation, "You don't gotta bear it alone anymore, dummy."

He puffs smoke to the side, away from eye contact. Vash's gaze is so hard to match—it feels like too much and too little at the same time. Overwhelming, hiding secrets, but laying his soul out to bare. If only this Vash had seen an ocean—perhaps then he would have even a faint understanding of the awe his eyes inspire.

Nick returns to face Vash again, "It's hard on both of us. You may be doing the 'killing,' but I'm right there with you. It's not the same as..."

His voice falters as he considers what to say carefully.

"We don't know if there's a way to help them. This is the only thing we can do for them. That being said..." Nick scratches at the side of his head with another sighing exhale of smoke. "...It sounds like you wanna go around searchin' for more of 'em. You feel like trying to fix this problem at its core? It sure does sound like it."

This could take weeks, months, even years. Still, it'd be worth it. Hopefully they'd meet up with the others on the way—they'd be able to share information... assuming they're even in the same world right now. He scratches his chin thoughtfully.

"If you want to, then I want to help. Lord knows what they're doin' to the 'me' of this world. My hope that wherever he is he's doing something that isn't killing flew out the window. Bet he's out capturing people or some shit. Hard to feel sympathy for him."