cerebralbleu

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Currently in a fistfight with my ADHD Waiting Period brain, because I'm getting on a plane in 5 days to fly out of the country. Legato can be a difficult muse to wrangle in sometimes (because he is also an extremely depressing guy to write), but I'll have some things up before I jump 7 hours ahead in timezones, and to make sure that I don't get snagged in an activity check.

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NONE AT ALL. COME HERE.

" OH, surely there's no diabolical malicious intent in this! we are friends now! "

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" Where was this energy when I needed you to do your job? " Thread grab, stop booping yourself, stop booping yourself, stop booping yourself """Chapel"""

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HAPPY WEDDING TO @amoirsetpacis

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Describe your muse using shitty eBay reviews.

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It's Friday, and he deserves a little treat. 🎂

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Alright it's time for me to sleep, but I'm going to give a quick look at who I owe besides cast members, and if I have the capacity I may put out a new starter call this weekend. But now I ssnnnzz.

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for legato enjoyer’s birthday…🐣

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Legato's first month in Isola: This sucks and I'm probably hallucinating all of this.

Legato's third month in Isola: This still sucks and now Elendira is here.

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If Legato was the pinnacle of low self-esteem and fragile ego, Elendira embodied the opposite side of the spectrum, and that was all too evident as she laughed at Legato's frustration and confusion. Under normal circumstances, he would spit back at her with a harsh word or two, requesting that he be left alone.

Unfortunately (maybe for the BOTH of them) that was not an option.

" I don't understand. Alternate versions? "

Before another word is gotten out, Legato is pulled into a disgustingly close predicament, and he scowls, annoyed.

" You've lost your absolute fucking mind if you think I'm going to happily traverse down the street with you arm in arm-- " Legato deadpans, though his debate clearly didn't matter.

" That doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense. And I think you're full of shit, " his already thin patience was wearing out.

" Alternate humans-- two of our very same lord-- and we're not doing anything about killing the fake ones? "

She laughs, high and lyrical. His irritation a salve to her soul, his pursed lips and drawn brow bringing her the utmost joy. Oh, had she missed him? Perhaps like one misses a splinter once it's removed, relishing in the intrusion and the ecstasy of pain.

"I know," she drawls, long and low. To all of it. That he doesn't have his abilities, that he doesn't know. "And that depends on what you mean by alone. By the time I arrived, there were already others from our world here. And, yes, dear, that means that our world is one of many.

"Perhaps, most interestingly," oh, how she relishes this. This moment before she changes his life forever. "There are alternate versions of us and the people we know. Some of which are here."

She loops her arm through his, tugging him along, letting him off easy this time without filling his mind with visions of how she would harm him, here on this street.

"Including Master Knives. Two of them, here with us!"

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He hadn't ever put much thought into how he operated in public. His technique was invisible, after all. Usually, when he deployed his phantom threads onto a target, Legato would do so without even looking at them.

This was different. He needed to look at this creatin directly.

" You don't have much to say? " He deadpans, narrowed silver meeting blue as he frowns.

In his current state, Legato could not enact nearly the amount of physical torture on this little insect. His own wings, torn apart and mangled by whatever force had dragged him to this hellhole. Perhaps they were both lowly creatures at this moment. Vash had wanted to die just as desperately as HE had in his final seconds, after all.

But there was no use in underestimating him.

" Now, don't tell me you're pretending that you've forgotten my face? Not after everything. "

Legato turns his head slowly, looking left, and then right. Nobody was on the street of the ward at this hour.

His attention snaps back to the captured Plant, and he smiles.

It's awful.

He attaches a thread to his artificial arm. This HAD to be the very same Vash the Stampede-- nothing else made sense.

" Or are you going to kill me again before answering any questions? You did a terrible job of keeping me in the ground. "

There's an effort to calm himself that doesn't go anywhere—kept like this, Vash finds himself unable to either tense or relax. Thought patterns rush through what they usually do in a perceived crisis: is anyone else around? They're in public, but it's a quiet street and there's no telling when or if any passerby could come by. Briefly his mind uselessly conjures an image he'd seen in a book, before; a dead butterfly with its wings pinned, a vibrant blue flayed open on permanent display.

No way to calm this guy down either, is there? The bead of sweat catches under Vash's chin. His memories are fragmented; it's beyond difficult, piecing together a torn photograph of who Legato Bluesummers is supposed to be.

Nicholas and Vash—his predecessor���had both mentioned his name, at the least… And in the case of the latter, it had come to light about what Vash had done to him, as impossible as it has been to accept (let alone discuss), but there was little else to go on besides notions of a hostile and tortured past by his hands.

The phone glued between Vash's hand and the side of his face remains just as silent as his twin.

He spares the effort of struggling. Paying as much attention as he can to his latest captor, the Stampede's eyes try to steadily focus toward the string-puller. Granted, there isn't much of a choice beyond cooperation. But if there's a chance for him to misdirect Legato using his eyes, he'll take it.

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Christ alive I'm so behind on my replies I am so sorry everyone, I've been having an ongoing canon event irl.

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Being haunted by a ghost of the past is simple enough to understand-- people die, and sometimes, people fail to rest in the grave, bursting forth and roaming the world in confusion, or in vengeance.

But what about a phantom of a future that one hasn't experienced yet?

Two shoulders connect in an accidental collision on the street, and the sensation of static electricity fills the air as the taller of the two comes to a halt.

He tastes blood on the tip of his tongue.

Legato Bluesummers has experienced this exact moment before, in a different lifetime, in a different town, with a different man, and it ended in catastrophic results.

And when he turns his head downwards, it is an unnatural movement-- as though the cerulean man was a spirit occupying his own body, controlling the corpse like a puppet. Every bone in his spine cracks, like a breaking tree branch, as he stares down at the stranger in silence.

Focused silence.

The taste of blood is swapped for the sensation of ice.

And tinnitus rings in his ears.

" . . . "

Ah. This stranger looks like someone who had put him down like a dog. A shame, he didn't dig the grave deep enough.

The threads that crawl from the base of his neck latch onto him; to be grabbed by this invisible force, feels like an attempt at possession, but for now, it isn't complete--

" Ｙ ｏ ｕ．"

Legato tilts his head to the side, unblinking, and tightens his grip on the man who looked unfortunately similar to his master's brother. A broken chuckle escapes him.

" You must think you're clever, trying to trick me by looking like that-- first you fail to kill me properly, now you're hiding yourself--

Vash the Stampede. "

He looked so differently-- smaller, there's more life in his eyes, far more than he had seen when staring at the opposite side of the gun barrel, laying in the bloody stand. Considering the strange anomalies of this island, it wouldn't be too strange for someone to be able to change their appearance just enough to disappear in the city.

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Venturing into Golden today wasn't a thoroughly calculated plan—initially Vash simply convinced himself to visit the place out of a need to reconnect and resocialize, but… It's proven overwhelming to be around the main streets and attractions of the liveliest Ward.

An anxious short walk away from the high-rises, the pacifist finds himself on the phone while on the relative quiet of Pearl Street. He can't help himself.

"—aren't telling me anything," the Stampede answers, too lost in the conversation by now to recognize the lone man he's passed on the sidewalk has slowed to a stop behind him. Normally, it'd be trivial to hear the way the stranger's boots twist, to sense that he's being looked at, but focus on this conversation clearly takes precedence.

"Tell me that you're okay, at least." It sounds more plea than demand. "You've always… You've always picked up when I've called. I just wanna know what happened, n'I promise I'll listen, Naï. We don't have to do any—"

The Humanoid Typhoon freezes in place. Even his mouth is stuck forming the next syllable, tip of tongue against his teeth.

It didn't matter how much panic he felt, or even that he's back to full strength; no amount of will would overcome being ensnared by invisible thread. The gun on his hip hasn't felt heavier before, feeling suddenly immovable and distant. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple.

Acutely he can hear the stranger's footfall grow louder. Closer. Against his ear, even the tinny voice of Millions Knives grows quiet.

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Oh, joyous day.

This happiness is hollow and rattles through him like a derecho through an abandoned building, but it is enough to prompt Legato to crawl out of his apartment for the first time in days; he hardly recalls how he responded to the text message:

[txt] Right away, yes Master Knives.

The directions were simple to parse. His master had always been a no-frills individual, making orders and requests easy to fulfill. It was the route that was rather-- confusing. In the weeks since Legato's arrival to this alien place, he could hardly make any sense of the island's geography. In an almost miraculous divide between one reality and another, Legato finds himself in a much more familiar sort of topography.

Desert sands burn his face as he approaches what looked to be the ARK. But how could that be possible? Legato had learned that for every answer he received on Spirale, two more questions appeared.

And, just as a phantom would abruptly materialize, Legato meanders the halls, his boots creating a faint echo with every connection into the steel flooring.

The joyous sentiment would, unfortunately, be clouded with an irritating anxiety: he suddenly becomes aware of every single little ache and pain in his body, and with that, he recalls the intensity of his master's wrath when he had first disobeyed.

Was Millions Knives going to enact that same wrath, after discovering that he had yet again, made an attempt at Vash the Stampede's life, before he fell, and the other Plant's gun was pressed to his skull?

The cold chill at the back of his neck needed to be ignored. He finally stops in front of doorway leading to where he usually found his master preoccupied with his thoughts-- and he knocks.

After the arrival of his doppelganger, Knives felt less inclined to keep track of the names that were added to the contact list with each passing eclipse. He already had one headache to deal with, he needn't burden himself with the responsibility of another one so quickly.

Legato Bluesummers Master Knives. Are you..

When he gets the text, all Knives can do is stare at the notification. Another headache. One that was clearly and more solidly his responsibility. Probably. Given the evidence so far, it seems like roughly a fifty-fifty chance to be one who is his responsibility and one who is his doppelganger's, but even then Knives would still feel like he shares some responsibility.

[txt] I could ask the same of you. [txt] Find your way to me, and do not keep me waiting.

Along with the texts, he sends his location as well as brief instructions on how to get there. Then he sets down his phone and rubs his temples with his pointer and index fingers. Dealing with Legato is going to be a delicate process, and Knives isn't sure what kind of man he'll have to become to deal with it. But, regardless of his feelings, it must be dealt with.

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Insufferable.

The quarreled like brother and sister. They looked at each other as friendly competition. And, most importantly, they knew how to get under each other's skin effortlessly. Legato scowls to himself, a subtle 'hmph' escaping his nostrils, and with narrowed eyes he pivots to the side in an attempt to evade Elendira's physical intrusion--

But not until fingers and pressed to his forehead, and an aggravating pain shoots through him, just enough to irritate Legato.

" You piss me off, " he hisses.

Alas, Legato could not deny the relief that begins to surface in his frigid core; if Elendira was here, and proclaimed that she had risen from her grave, then Legato had not been delusional.

He had died.

And one ally, albeit a miserable one, was better than none.

" Enough about competition. I can't properly use my ability, " it's shameful to admit, but Legato's frown is ever permanent on his face as he announces this to Elendira. " I don't know why or how either of us are here, that has to mean that others are nearby as well. It's troubling. "

He takes in a breathe, and exhales.

Oh, Master Knives. How will he look at him when he sees that his most loyal disciple had been dwindled into nothing more than a lame pauper?

There were dozens of questions that he had for the Crimsonnail, but perhaps the best one to start with was:

" Did you come here alone? "

She could only really assume he was dead as well, given her time as one of Millions Knives' phantoms. The ever needy unnumbered gun would have attached himself to their master's side.

Thus, he must be dead.

Just as she is. And yer they were both here, and she knew she had been here far longer than he had been, and so she was the more powerful of the two.

At least in this moment.

"Oh, I'm very real." She approaches him quickly. Oh, he must be new. He must be so very weak. She can't quite give up the opportunity to mess with him, leaning in close.

"Wanna see?"

And placing a finger on his forehead, then two, a vision entering his mind her inflicting some measure of pain on him, nothing too serious, and she pulls her hand away, chuckling.

This kind of greeting was almost friendly between them, her laugh punctuating her actions.

"Perhaps distance does make the heart grow stronger. I did miss being able to compete with you." Pushing her hair behind her ear, she smirks, "Hardly competition right now, if ever, but we're both quite alive. I may have died first, but I certainly broke out of my grave before you did."

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✏️ let's see you doodle good ole Eggo Blueberry over here

doodle meme

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" Tolerance is what allowed these vermin to get to this point. Elevation is not the business I am in. Extermination better suits me, " Legato continues in that dreary, dull tone-- but there is a turn, only when his master is referenced. Now, he chuckles, and there is a strange lightness to his tone.

" Of course my master is a god.

Millions Knives.

These humans are a dread to him. Therefor, I play my part in assisting him with their elimination. Or so I did. If I'm here, and if I am dying, then that means I failed my mission. "

The trailing laughter is dry, as if coming from skeletal remains.

Legato swears that the sound of the .45 Long Cult's bullet rattling between his ears in the blinding execution.

" Perhaps I will eventually find solace in knowing that my final moments were steeped in loyalty, despite it all. Ah. And perhaps speaking this out loud is a boon. . .

You believe angels are real? "

「✧」 This is amusing.

Not just because of the fact that the man speaks to him still; perhaps a part of him still thinks he's dreaming, and finds it fit to share his thoughts with the delusions of his subconscious mind.

It is fortunate then, that Aurelius has always been fond of listening to those who speak sensibly, no matter how outrageous their claims might sound.

"No, I don't believe so." Continuing Legato's last statement, the angel follows his gaze to the golden orb in the sky. "We shouldn't take it for granted, however."

"Who knows when the Stars in charge will change their minds to drop it on our heads one day?"

Stranger things have happened. In any case, that was only a tangent; the main attraction of the moment was still this gloomy man and his strong opinions.

"You're quite judgmental against the race as a whole. If they are destined to be ignorant, then your complaints will only reach deaf ears. Elevate the souls who deserve it and tolerate the rest—unless your Master is a god and you one of his angels, I don't see any worth in you meddling in their business."