cerebralbleu

[cerebralbleu]

To pry into Legato was to willingly stick one's hands into something dressed with needles and razorblades. It's violent. It's harsh. He's covered in spikes and bones and other unpleasant things to ward off those who might want to get too close, touch too intimately, take too much. Vash pries, and when he does, he's greeted with the gnashing of teeth and the hollering of a beaten dog.

" No, you didn't want to kill me. You didn't want to kill me just as much as you didn't want to kill anybody else. You were prepared to let me fester and rot beneath the suns until my flesh became putrid meat and my bones returned to the sand. That's all I was. That's all I would be. Something to return to the sand. You made me BEG-- "

His voice grows more disjointed as the Stampede is held over the freeway, Legato now choosing to physically hold him, his hand trembling with rage.

" You made me BEG to die. Who are you to choose my destiny?! I wanted to die and you made me BEG like a COMMON SINNER for mercy! And you couldn't-- you couldn't even-- "

Rage gives way to hot tears spilling down his face.

" You couldn't even nail the coffin shut enough to keep me in the ground. That's why I'm here. Because you FAILED! "

He didn't deserve to die.

Somewhere deep down-- he understands that-- but a stronger force knows the purpose he had submitted to when he made his vow of devotion to a higher power.

With all of his strength-- though meager in comparison to what it once was-- the wraith snaps his head to the side, giving Vash one last wild stare with bloodshot eyes, before his physical strength coupled with his threads throws him from the over head, down into the bowels of the zooming traffic.

With the string-puller's lack of recognition and escalation of threat, Vash's ideas of leverage dwindle further. The concern on the pacifist's face deepens—but not into panic. Despite being the one dragged to the literal edge, he can't help but feel like he's the one losing Legato, pushing him toward malevolence. Priorities shift. If there's nothing to be done to help Bluesummers, then the least he could offer is his heart.

"I didn't want to kill you."

It's dangerous territory to tread, speaking on behalf of his predecessor like this. But intuitively, he feels the need to say it. Vash the Stampede isn't the heartless Typhoon the myths make him to be, and who else would better know that to be the truth?

If they'd had any talk about Legato that had gone beyond the superficial, maybe Vash'd feel more sure of these words being true. As it is, there can't be anything besides hope.

"You didn't do anything to deserve being killed." It comes out steadier, since it's easier to be confident about it—that was an objective fact. "…Sorry I couldn't help you."

The wrong Stampede lapses into silence, then, feeling little point in adding anything unnecessary.

He spares enough of a moment to recognize how different he's become in handling situations like this: if Legato had tried this a mere year or so sooner, Vash would probably take to silver-tongued sleight of hand, impossible acrobatics that get the both of them out of trouble.

Tough luck.

[cerebralbleu]

Nobody could say that Legato had flourished beneath the twin suns of that deep space desert. He 'thrived' the way that a weed grows between the cracks of concrete: through a stubborn determination to live.

If one were to ask the weed, however, it would gladly speak of how comfortable its roots were while entrapped beneath the pavement, for it knew not of its brothers who called loamy soil their home.

Legato only understand the world through that very same lens.

He expects a metaphoric hand to reach down and strike upon him for his uselessness. Instead, he's greeted with an open palm, but this wild animal does not know how to react to such a gesture. So he stands there, face pale, obscured by long locks of blue, silent for what seems like forever.

" You-- "

Religious indoctrinate had been an effective way to reign in a beast like himself. He could follow commands. He could carry out orders. But when his master states that the objective has been-- tossed out, and now asks if he would have a problem with laying down his weapons--?

It barely leaves room for him to comprehend that Knives had admitted to failure. Such an inconceivable thing to hear.

" No-- No of, of course not, I have no problem with what you ask of me, not now, not ever, " Legato stammers, trying to temper himself.

He bites the inside of his mouth until he tastes iron. Pain was always effective at grounding him. Legato looks away before continuing. This was a lot for a meek creature such as himself to digest. His voice trembles, attempting to quash his emotions.

" I have nowhere else to go, and nothing else to do with myself. If you would continue to have me at yourself, I would be so very blessed. "

Even with Legato's chronological point confirmed, Knives is still unsure of what to make of the blue haired human, and it begins to frustrate him. In their world, the man was a weapon. There was little need to know much about him and the environment lent well to his destructive nature. Here and now, though? It was like looking at a nuke he didn't know how to disengage.

A light frown tugs at the corners of Knives' lips with that thought as it's quickly followed by one considering that this was, perhaps, how others from their world viewed him. Something to be examined later, perhaps. Much later.

"It is the nature of this world," The plant states, choosing to focus on the man's lack of power, for now. "When I arrived, I was, admittedly, lowered to a more human state, but your powers will return with time as mine have." Knives considers Legato for a moment, then continues, "My mission failed in our world, and I have little interest in wasting what life I have left on continuing it here. You may live on the Ark and stay by my side, but I have no use for a weapon here. Will that be a problem for you?"

[cerebralbleu]

Gunfire punctuates deranged thoughts, a manifesto of one-sided devotion that would fall on nobody's ears. A corpse of a man shambles through the mist, pupils like pinpricks, like distant stars, blazing like the calamity overhead. He wields the gun, shooting wildly, achieving precision that could only be credited to his manic state.

All of this is so familiar to him, like he is possessing his own body and operating on autopilot.

Like he has been here before, hunting for his man, knowing that he was walking himself towards a burial ground that had yet to be dug.

The cacophony rattling in his ears demands that he prove himself. Prove his worthiness. Prove his efficiency. Prove the fact that he could kill him. He could bring him to his knees, and if not, he would fulfill the rotten promise that he gave to his master: your brother will suffer at the hands of humans.

Regrettably so, Legato Bluesummers was mortal, despite his demonic will.

Regardless of what happens, today, an angel learns how it feels to to be human, by committing a mortal sin.

Legato brandishes his weapon as he moves through the dense mist, looming, that stoic smile twisting into an awful grin when finally, finally, he locks eyes with the subject of his deep seeded ire. (Perhaps it is fortunate that his shot missed; he wants Vash to look at him. He wants to see his exquisite misery.)

Faux joy vanishes, replaced with his stoic gaze, the webbing of his threads already laid over the landscape, waiting.

" It's over. It was over the moment I arrived,

Vash the Stampede. "

★ --;; Laughter, cold and harsh and horribly, horribly familiar in a way Vash desperately wishes it weren't, rings and reverberates through the fallen mist in a way that sends ice through his nerves and veins, sets a fire under the soles of his feet. All at once he's alone again in the veil of it all, and looking around wildly, trying to hone his senses in on any one point, leaves him still with the only option he's been able to take for so much of his life; run.

Towards it this time instead of away, despite the overwhelming dread seeping through his lumps and heart and lungs, filling them like so much cement trying to forcefully grind him to a halt. He doesn't let it, though-- he's here, that much Vash's successor had told him, that much Vash had been trapping tightly beneath his ribcage in the hopes that that fear would stay there, quiet, if only for a few more days. Until distance could be put, somehow, an excuse to try and rally himself together.

Seems he isn't getting the chance to do so.

The heavens fall out of the blank nothingness; as though the high rises of the city have been washed away with the damp there are no explosions to be had as starships that should not be here roar into existence, as they struggle to prevail against the inevitable collision with unforgiving earth, as they scream with the impact. They blip rapidly in and out of existence, distort themselves, as though they know they should not be here but have on other option other than to remain no matter how much they fight against it.

The laughter echoes again. A bullet rings, millimeters from his ear at zips by. Heart in his throat, Vash turns.

@cerebralbleu > @punishercross

[cerebralbleu]

Hi hi, I'll be here today when I get back from my obligations.

Since I've been so busy and scattered these past few months, I'm going to go ahead and mention that I'm dropping all old threads that aren't with cast members!(Things I haven't responded to since October) Cast member threads will continue on schedule.

I want to do some new stuff in the new year, so, I'll put out a plotting call for new threads after the holidays.

[cerebralbleu]

Confrontation still managed to light some sort of tension in his gut; every move, every decision, all of it had to be extremely calculated. Any suggestion of weakness was abhorrent to himself, and to the power that he deserved. There, holding Vash in his web, sharp expression narrowing even further as the Humanoid Typhoon attempts to bridge some sort of communication-- Legato gives a firm tug to his wrist, only to watch the phone fall to the ground.

He glances downwards, and slowly tilts his head to the side at the caller ID: a name he didn't know. Legato bends down, keeping his eyes on Vash, and picks the phone up.

" At this point in time, I don't think you can give me any answers that I want, " he retorts, holding the phone between two fingertips. " Especially not with an audience. "

With that, Legato begins to drag Vash with his threads, eyeing the end of the quiet alleyway, following the sound of the traffic coming from the freeway on the lower tier of the ward. He looks back to Vash as they get closer and closer to the side of the railing, wicked intent in his expression.

" You can still do something for me though. You can struggle for me. "

Vash the Stampede has been in difficult situations at the mercy of humans, before. His body kept the score, each scar holding memory as important as the pain itself.

There's no way to physically influence the situation, of course, so that's been out the window from the get-go. But Bluesummers still hasn't made any obvious attempts at incurring any harm to either of them, yet; and crucially, he's talking. As long as the pacifist could keep a dialogue going, the odds just might slip well.

He's jolted out of his thoughts when his body moves without his say.

With his puppeteered hand no longer positioned to grasp it properly, his phone clatters to the ground. Its listener—according to the screen facing upward, someone named Naï—continues to hold onto the line quietly.

"Just wanted t'prove I'm interested in helpin' you get the answers you want," Vash says, putting effort in speaking clearly. "But you're right: you don't have t'believe me. You're the one in control here, Bluesummers. So, what d'you wanna know?"

[cerebralbleu]

any way comfort blorbo drawing

[cerebralbleu]

Legato's fourth month in Isola: I'm throwing Vash into traffic.

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.

[cerebralbleu]

In all of his years of servitude, of bending the knee and keeping his head craned as low as physically possible, Legato should understand by now to keep his expectations low. 'Do not expect anything beyond instruction, you are a weapon, after all.' That was reality. And yet, the selfish, undeniable reminder of his unfortunate humanity, always clashed with this sobering truth: he did not matter.

Perhaps he expected-- more. Nothing grandiose. Not even warm. Not a proper welcome, even. He did not anticipate any of these things.

Yet, the flat delivery of the question, brings-- something to the surface, something that Legato cannot name, or properly acknowledge, but it makes his shoulders stiffen.

Perhaps he wished that his master cared that he was able to get here at all, given the circumstances as he clung onto several measly strings both physically, and mentally. Legato looks across the dim room with an equally flat and hollow expression, first noting the dark hue of Knives' hair, and swallowing down the shock so that it didn't manifest on his face.

" . . . "

What did he have to report on?

Success.

He forced the hand, and made the empathetic protector of humanity know how it felt to take a life.

Failure.

He failed to eliminate Vash the Stampede. The bullet to the skull was evidence, shot and taken out like a dog that had been struck on the highway.

Failure. Failure. Failure. And now he didn't even have the full range of his ability to be useful.

" Nothing of significance since coming to this place, Master, " Legato eventually speaks up, unable to look him in the eye as he mutters.

" I-- have lost the majority of control over my abilities. I don't understand why, or how, or when all of this happened, or why you are even here-- " he begins to ramble, and then pulls in his anxieties. There was no use for that.

" He killed me, master. Your brother. He killed me, and then I was here. I am sorry, I have little else to share. "

Almost immediately after sending the messages, Knives regrets his decision to have Legato come to his location. Not knowing what the human could be doing grates on his nerves. He knows what the man is like and what he's capable of. As well as the fact that the time from which he's pulled is sole determining factor for the severity of what he's capable of.

But… there's also wisdom in having Legato come to him. With his master as his focus, regardless of the era, it should reduce the human's inclination to get distracted by other matters. Having him at the ARK rather than some random district also reduced the potential for harm, should he have any adverse reactions to anything Knives might have to say.

That gets Knives dwelling on the past, present, and future. How much as changed, how much is left to change, and what could potentially be lost. By the time Legato does arrive, Knives is exactly where the human expects to find him.

"Come in." He commands flatly.

Inside, Knives is sitting slumped in a chair, one elbow resting on an arm of the chair, his cheek pressed against a closed fist. His expression as hard as it is distant. Despite all Knives has gone through, he's slipped right back into that cold persona. No doubt looking exactly as Legato last saw him, with the exception of his jet black hair.

"You made it." Knives comments, as his gaze lazily trails over to the blue-haired human. It's unclear to him, even with scrutiny, when the human's from. It could be before his revival or closer to his final moments, given that he's up and walking on his own. Unless, of course, the Stars were kind enough to return that ability to him. Knives tries to see if there's any sign at all. A wrinkle or a scar, but the longer he looks, the more he realizes how little he ever cared to really see his disciple.

"What do you have to report?"

[cerebralbleu]

The delivery of that statement brings pause to Legato Bluesummers, but not comfort.

It's almost poetic, really, the hatred that he feels when he hears those words. Any other living being would be quelled by them. And while Legato was visibly human, and physically human, he lacked the humanity in his heart to feel anything but wrath in this moment.

" I don't believe you. "

The response was immediate. No thought. No hesitation. Just words, and they rattle as though they came out of the dried throat of an old corpse.

" Why should I believe you? "

He had ever inclination to drag him out of this sleeping road, and hold him over the rushing traffic of the main highway. He could do it. He had enough use of his abilities to do that at the very least.

" You've done nothing but bring me grief. "

Legato takes one step backwards, pulling the subject of his ire along with the force of his threads.

" The fact that you just say these things so EASILY-- it disgusts me. "

It takes considerable willpower to resist the familiar creeping terror that comes with losing more and more control of his body.

But Vash can still hold the puppeteer's chilling gaze, and his vocal cords are yet unaffected by whatever invisible paralytic power this is.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he decides to say, as though he were the one holding Legato hostage. Vash speaks slowly and softly by choice; they both know he could scream for help or to warn others away, to raise his voice in effort to intimidate and posture. But he won't.

It's the honest truth, anyway. There's ample conviction in the pacifist's eyes that affirm that much. He's thinking that Legato must be more scared of him than the other way around—why else resort to something like this just to ask questions?

"You let me go, you'll get your answers." Simple, isn't it?

[cerebralbleu]

Legato's expression twists into one of confusion, and disgust. What were those implications?! To dare assume that his loyalty was anything short of unwavering and solid. Elendira always knew how to crawl under his skin and take residence like a parasitic worm, always knew how to make him itch with anger. He scowls, and bites the inside of his mouth.

"Insinuate that I am a traitor again, and you'll look even more foolish than you've ever been. How is that not an obvious concern, Crimsonnail? There is only one true master that I have dedicated my service to, and to now say that there is another? How is that not cause for worry? How could you accept another so easily, believing that we aren't being deceived?"

It made little to no sense to Legato. Even though his current perception and insight of his surroundings was poor due to the dampening of his abilities, he was not going to act like this scenario wasn't bizarre.

"Unless I hear it from Master Knives himself, I cannot begin to believe that he would be content with treating another who claims to be HIM, as an equal."

Apparently he has lost his absolute fucking mind, as she successfully drags him down the street, arms locked together, laughing loudly at his pain. Oh, she did miss him, didn't she? Amusing as this place has been, how else was she supposed to get her kicks without the most dour ass to ever walk the planet to laugh at.

"Why would we kill the alternate ones?" She graces him with, not deigning to respond to his implication that she's full of shit, because she's not, and she knows her next move is a killer, one that will pierce that shriveled little heart of his.

Oh, perhaps, through the spine! He was rather pathetic for that, wasn't he?

"Unless..." Her voice falls into a mock whisper. She tugs him flush with her, lips close to his ear. "You would ever think to hurt any version of Master Knives? I'd never even consider that."

"My, perhaps the grave has made a traitor out of you yet! I'll gladly take your head for even the implication that you would harm a hair on his." Either of them, really, but she can't help the razor sharp grin that forms on her painted lips.

[cerebralbleu]

NONE AT ALL. COME HERE.

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

[cerebralbleu]

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

[cerebralbleu]

HAPPY WEDDING TO @amoirsetpacis

[cerebralbleu]

Describe your muse using shitty eBay reviews.

[cerebralbleu]

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

[cerebralbleu]

for legato enjoyer’s birthday…🐣

[cerebralbleu]

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.