#[ planet era: 0104+ ]

[angelictyphoon]

@misplacedreporter - from (x)

“C’mon, Meryl. It’s Know-vember! The scholarly city! The finest minds in all of No Man’s Land, gathered here for the noble pursuit of academia.” 

They talk while they walk. Vash spreads his arms wide and wiggles his fingers for dramatic emphasis on the word ‘academia.’ 

The last time he was here with Brad, the salvaged data cluster from the SEEDS ship that had crashed here served as the fledgling university's foundation for understanding lost tech. An ever present reminder now encased into the ceiling of the central apse of the fallen observation deck that had been converted into the main library. The mass of circuitry and silicon had been preserved in plastisteel once all the data was spooled out, carefully transcribed and organized into analog copies in the event of Plant failure. 

Look up to remember that humanity came from the stars, and that they could yet achieve those heights once more. Nothing from the spacefaring age was magical. Technology could be understood, reverse-engineered, and learned from. The founding faculty believed in that mission.

November has grown since then. 

“Your old stomping grounds. Aren't you excited?" Vash neatly pirouettes around a pair of head-bowed uniformed students lost in discussion regarding their latest lecture on the importance of conducting a thorough geological survey and the topic of why does it even matter if this stupid rock was a single-biome planet anyway? The students' heads lean even closer to each other as he and Meryl pass, their tones shade haughty, and one of them glances at Vash with all the nerve of someone who has found gum under their shoe. 

[eventheodds]

— @misplacedreporter [ x ]

Hearing her own voice will never not be weird.

Never mind the fact that she's literally seeing herself in front of her—and this is no fun house with those mirrors she heard about from that one colleague who went there one time. Nothing about this is fun.

She's not having a good time.

And that is a serious understatement.

"Yes. A nap. I need a nap."

As if a nap can fix whatever this is—if this is even a thing that can be fixed.

She knows that closing her eyes and pretending to sleep, because she's at least a little bit honest with herself when she knows she's not going to get any shut-eye, won't make any of this go away but she can at least think it will. Or hope.

Fat chance for either.

"It's either a nap or I order myself a large lager and take it from there." She's a lightweight, remembers how a single pint was enough to have her near falling over herself and her words when she told Roberto she was trying to save him.

Thinking of her former mentor will never not leave a sharp pain coursing through her. Meryl still holds herself responsible for his death even if it'd been Elendira's nail that pierced him.

"So, what's it gonna be...er, me?"

Maybe make that a whiskey.

[angelictyphoon]

Noise. They have been surrounded by it from the moment they first opened their eyes to the void of space, to the burning skies of No Man’s Land, through the gate of one dimension to the next. The ratio of signal to noise has been a constant outside of the pressurized safety of the SEEDS vessels.

Only, the SEEDS ships were not safe. Knives’s signal rises above the noise. Not so long as they qualified as something other. Not after Tesla. Not even after Rem’s attempts to persuade them otherwise. Vash holds onto each thought, even if it feels like the bladed edge of the truth cuts into his palms. 

“Mm. Okay.” Vash strums his fingers along the edge of the bed while Knife sinks back into his pillow. His attention moves from the drawn curtains, the air drying linens by the sink, then back to Knives. Ffp ffp ffp. Vash continues to tap his fingers rhythmically. 

He should leave Knives to rest and heal. In sharing some of his power the process should be that much more bearable. At the same time…

“Hey, do you want to go outside? I could, uh…Carry you on my back or something.” That sounds stupider out loud than it did in his head. “You’ve just been kinda stuck here the whole time, so…I mean, only if you want to. Just a suggestion. You don't have to.”

He can feel the questions; they're too thick in the air to miss but he doesn't know how to answer them, lacks the words to explain the complex tangled weave that surrounds Nai-Knives. Names in general.

Knives packages up the memory of everything Nai had been (small, too eager and easy to hurt, helpless, afraid), then follows it with everything that is Knives (strong, capable, bold like Vash had been, safe) and lobs it across the chasm between them. Maybe he'll understand, maybe he won't. It's the best he can do, when he lacks the words to explain what's so fundamental to him as a person. To explain why he can't be Nai, why Knives is so different.

"Probably," he agrees with the assessment. Pauses. "I had more practice at working with my powers. You're doing–well." The praise feels stilted on his tongue; he's not used to giving it. Knives gives it anyway, dropping his head back to the pillows. "Show me later."

When he can sit up without dying, preferably. The idea of sitting outside instead of languishing in bed is vaguely appealing in a distant sort of way.

[feekins]

today, as I re-read ch 3 of Trigun Maximum vol 1, the focus of our story shifts to post-timeskip Meryl! what's she up to? what strange new translation discrepancies will I stumble upon next? let's jump right in and find out! 😁

(NOTE: I'm reading the Dark Horse [physical] and the Overhaul [online] translations side-by-side)

ok so the moment I saw the first page, I had to go grab Trigun vol 1 for comparison purposes.

SO. a couple things I wanna note about the in-'verse timeline, for posterity:

Lost July happened on July 21, 0104

Fifth Moon happened in October of 0110

at Fifth Moon, Vash references the Fall as having happened 150 years ago...

...which has me thinking that some major post-Fall event led to the decision to start a new calendar "era" - like how, in tristamp, the "Planet Era" was heralded by humanity managing to establish a planet-wide radio network using a satellite that was launched pre-Fall (source: Studio Orange on Twitter)

(SIDE-NOTE: on the sheet we see Meryl hand Roberto towards the beginning of tristamp ep 1, we see Meryl's birth year marked as "PE081" and her age as "23" - which tells us that tristamp starts in the year 0104 - which tracks with the date the manga gives us for Lost July! and also has me thinking we won't have a Fifth Moon in the new anime, but I digress;;;;; )

Trigun Maximum picks up 2 years after Fifth Moon (0112)...

...but we first see post-Fifth Moon Meryl on her 23rd birthday in February of 0113...

...meaning a few months have passed since we met Eriks!

oh, and that office lady, Karen, says Meryl's Vash assignment was 4 months long, which puts the start of Trigun vol 1 at July of 0110!

anyway. I thought that was interesting. if it hasn't been done already, it would be cool for someone to keep track of the manga timeline (someone who isn't me, lmao - I've already spent over an hour on this post;;;;; )

(Dark Horse on top, Overhaul on bottom)

anyway! here's the first little translation discrepancy that jumped out at me this chapter! similar wording, sure, but to me, subtle differences in meaning and overall vibes the phrasing gives off rly emphasizes Vash's softness in the Overhaul 💕

(Dark Horse on left, Overhaul on right)

but this? lol idk, man ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

additional shit in the Overhaul's translation! not surprised that Keele seems like even more of an asshole here lmao

...ok but it's rly funny to think about the possibility that all Vash knows about insurance agents comes from his impressions of Meryl and Milly. so. I guess in his mind, Keele's just par for the course 🤣

subtle difference in wording here, but thanks to the Overhaul, this little bit makes a lot more sense to me this read-through =u=

same deal here!

wow, they're married... 🤣🤣🤣

and again! Dark Horse had me thinking Meryl was talking about Vash here. the Overhaul makes it clear that, no, she's talking about that asshole Keele

[angelictyphoon]

@forgivenpunishment from (x)

“Yeah!” 

Utterly, completely, and blithely unaware, Vash smiles as they look out over the flat rooftops of Little Monrovia and the rich, twilight purples that hide behind amber clouds. He rests his chin on his palms and studies Wolfwood’s expression form the corner of his eye. 

What an odd way to talk about someone he clearly cares so much about. 

“See, there’s the real clincher,” Vash reasons, and a wave of spiky blond hair moves with him as he bobs his head. “Even if you think you aren’t, you’re stronger for not having to hide your weaknesses from someone who cares about you.”

If only Wolfwood knew just how much of a hypocrite Vash the Stampede can be for ignoring his own advice.

Vash blinks.

Wolfwood appears to be looking back at him quite intently. The funny sort of look Vash swears he’s seen on Wolfwood’s face before, only it has always been diminished by the dark shades over his eyes.

WIth as brusque as their lines of dialogue (or insults) have been, it couldn’t be–

“Or, you know. Maybe don’t pick someone who’s such an idiot,” Vash laughs nervously.

[angelictyphoon]

🎲 for meryl

43. a bloody kiss

There hadn’t been time. Between the series of disasters that beset Jeneora Rock, crashing (literally) into Wolfwood at the waystation, and cutting their way through the belly of a Grand Worm, then cramming themselves into a tiny news van for a journey through the seemingly endless sea of dunes and rocky plateaus, there hasn’t been opportunity for conversation. 

Roberto has refrained from making any commentary for once. Nicholas could likely sense it too, but he hadn't been there. 

On the surface, Meryl seems fine. Ever ready to snap at her passengers in the rear seat whenever their bickering got too heated or rowdy. Vash recognizes that newfound sadness all too well. He can see it when she looks away from the sand sea stretched out before them, when her eyes linger in the rearview for a touch too long. The kind of sadness a person hides like a bird with a broken wing. She's dealing with it in her own way. 

He resolves to talk to her when they reach the next town. It’ll be a chance for them to restock on supplies. Food, water, ammo. Roberto and Nicholas go off down some other avenue in search of less dire necessities (namely more cigarettes and alcohol), but still necessities, according to them.

“Here, let me carry some of those,” Vash offers, extending a hand to take several of the grocery bags hanging off Meryl’s arms. Not all of them– she is perfectly capable of carrying her own burdens too. “You and Roberto have helped me out a lot.” 

More than they should have, more than he has any right to deserve. That’s not his focus right now, but the least he can do is share some of the weight.

“Back in Jeneora…” The bags hanging from his fingertips rustle as he twists one way and then the next in search of the right words. He can see Meryl’s head snap back towards him with a protest burgeoning in her eyes. “Hold on, now! I’ve got a lot of experience dealing with this sort of thing.”

With despair. With failure. With wishing the past could play out differently. He smiles his sad smile as they walk, two pairs of feet kicking up dust down the path. 

“Turn it into something else. Something that gives you the strength to keep moving.” To do better, he does not need to add, because Meryl does not need to be told what she already knows.

Meryl chews on her bottom lip with a frown. "But Tonis…"

"Is still alive," he finishes. "Sometimes that just has to be enough."

Delnashville is a bigger town than most. They have their own bank, their own radio tower, a fully-staffed hospital, several neighborhoods and the retailers and grocers needed to support them. It lies on the cusp of becoming a proper city, somewhere between urban and rural. 

More people means they run the risk of a higher chance that someone will recognize the Humanoid Typhoon. Vash has been scanning for the spark of recognition ever since they stepped foot into town. Maybe they had been overly optimistic. Certainly they were dealing with an issue that constantly saddled it's only a matter of time. 

Vash surveys the open windows of multi-story buildings, linens on their lines, down to cross-armed men standing in the shadows of awnings with menacing stares. Greed is as potent as any drug. He can feel their hunger trained on him. Sixty million could change the trajectory of an entire town. For a smaller crew, it meant they would never want for anything again.

"Y'know, I think we should go this way," he announces suddenly, hip-nudging Meryl in the direction of a narrow back street with plenty of cover. 

"Hey! That's Vash the Stampede! Don't let him get away!"

"Hahaha…right now," Vash laughs nervously, lifting both hands to hurriedly usher Meryl forward as his pursuers tromp in their direction. Just in time for the first desperado to level their revolver at him while they attempt to flee.

"Ahh! Wait, don't shoot, don't shoot!" Vash yells, disappearing behind a cloud of splintered crates and exploding vegetable matter. 

“Vash!”

He can feel Meryl grappling with the shoulders of his coat as she attempts to drag him behind a cluster of crates and barrels.

“Oh no…No, no no, you’re covered in blood.”

“That’s right…I’m sorry, Meryl. This…might be it…Please…” Vash groans, fisting into the front of her shirt.

“Wh…What can I do? What should I do?!” 

“Just. Come here. Closer. I just want to give you one last thing…”

Her face is pinched with trepidation, but Meryl nevertheless leans in close. She mouths the words ‘anything,’ and ‘not like this’ under the same breath. Vash pulls her down the rest of the way into a kiss.

And then she starts pounding the sides of his face and torso with a flurry of angry punches.

“It’s KETCHUP!”

[angelictyphoon]

Touch for the sake of it is not a common feature in his life. Physicality, minor affections without fear, without expectation, without pain, lures him like a moth to flame. 

Wolfwood does not shove him off, at least not for the moment, and Vash takes a great deal of pleasure in that. Not defenseless, but certainly trusting when Wolfwood begins threading his fingers through wisps of blonde-black hair, Vash’s purr resonates through the tent like a primal thrum. 

Unfortunately, he made it weird.

Hadn’t meant to, doesn’t know what he means to, but…He almost envies how well Wolfwood knows himself. The life of Eriks is one he will not return to again. These mornings as of late, Vash wakes up wondering whether he can manage a day to just be Vash the Stampede or if he is the Humanoid Typhoon. 

Right now he’s a freakish in-between, blundering around in the dark wanting things he can’t have. Wanting a person he shouldn’t have. There is no parity through which the nature of his own being does not interfere.

Alien.

Inhuman.

“...You never seemed lost to me.” 

On the contrary, Vash always admired Wolfwood’s singular focus on his mission. His. Not Conrad’s, not Knives’s. Beaten, broken, bruised, used, and still, the fire in Wolfwood’s heart burned all the same. The need to protect Hopeland, the place he grew up in, the kids he grew up with, the selfless caretakers who raised him. Vash had forgiven him the moment he recognized the fury that blazed in those gray eyes as a kindness, a fierce instinct to protect despite what his hands had wrought as the sandsteamer rolled across the dunes and straight towards Hopeland. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Vash hedges, and that particular phrase represents the usual beginnings of one of his patently bad ideas. The voice of reason, evidently, loses the battle with his heart; a nervous, fluttery thing stuck somewhere in his throat.

Wolfwood wanted to stay.

“You’ve seen my home. Met Brad, Luida, and the whole crew. I’d really like it if after we see everyone at Ship Three–” and Vash slows then, studying Wolfwood’s reaction with a wide-eyed plaintiveness that is both confession and acceptance of whatever answer may come, “I’d like to see Hopeland. With you.”

Wolfwood looks down at the blond currently making a residence on his thigh, and raises a hand to push him off.

Well, he should push him off. Should...

He palms the top of Vash's head, about to shove, then—

—then his grip softens. It softens, and his heart softens, melts like it did that one night, and he runs his fingers against Vash's scalp. He continues the motion, petting the man soothingly, slowly, perhaps with a slight tremor. He could break Vash if he wanted to. Could hurt him, physically, mentally, emotionally...

But instead he chooses love, and comes undone.

"Well, don't put it like that," Wolfwood starts, quietly, "I don't always flirt around with my..." He sighs, failing to put up the front that covers the slight hurt Vash's words stir up.

Letting Vash go to Knives was one of the hardest things he had to do. One of the most cowardly, too. He remembers how tight his throat was—how much it hurt—when Vash thanked him. He's had nightmares about it. He, admittedly, had pleasant dreams about Vash as well, but the nightmares were more common.

"No, it made my 'job' harder, actually," he mumbles definitively, "I... wasn't sure you remembered all that. From that one night on the balcony. Didn't wanna overstep. I guess."

He should stop petting the mess of blond hair lying on his thigh, but he can't. Vash is addictive. Once he let the Stampede have an inch of space in his mind, it was over for him. Of course he still loves Vash. There's love and fear in equal balance, strength and weakness, determination and doubt. Does he agree with everything Vash does? No. Does Vash agree with everything he does? No.

They ground each other. Show new perspectives. Vash more often showing Wolfwood than the other way around, but sometimes miracles happen. Wolfwood finds himself licking his lips nervously—a dry mouth makes words hard to speak into existence. Fingers pause in thought as he finds the right words to say.

"I don't think I can leave you. Not again. I get kinda... lost... I guess... without you."

There's a loud silence after. Wolfwood resumes running his fingers through Vash's hair.

[angelictyphoon]

' i had it under control. you didn't need to do that. ' / from sloan.

“Didn’t look that way to me!” 

Vash peers over the edge of the rooftop and down to where the pallet has splayed its contents all over the ground. Spilt molasses trickles from the barrels, and the military police that had been chasing them are struggling to unstick their weapons from the tacky, sweet liquid squelching and sucking at their feet.

The snapped hoist cables still sway in the midday breeze as the squad, disoriented from the fall and covered in splatters of molasses, attempts to track Vash’s last known location.

“Hey! Come back here! HUMANOID TYPHOON!” the captain roars. 

Yikes. 

One of them manages to unstick their pistol and take a poorly aimed shot past his head and Vash snaps back to break their line of sight. Below, he can hear the captain’s chatter fed into a handheld radio.

“...backup…the Stampede…resisting arrest and destruction of property…unknown accomplice…” 

He scruffs at the feathery black hairs at his nape before grinning sheepishly back at Sloan. “Was trying to keep you off their radar…Guess I failed, heh.”

More shots ring out, and Vash shrinks and hunches into the collar of his jacket like a turtle. He grabs Sloan by the arm. “Oop, let’s get outta here!” 

[angelictyphoon]

❛ working together again, it’s just like old times. ❜ -@forgivenpunishment

How can you say that so easily? 

The question bobs up and down in his throat along with his Adam’s apple as he swallows and tries to convince himself to say anything actually worth saying. This, this, this, and that. Every reason to give up and expect him dead and gone, yet Wolfwood found him anyway. Found him with that look on his face, like Wolfwood has never seen anyone so wonderful, like Vash is anything but the monster he knows he is. 

A monster– that is what Wolfwood spent two years looking for. The kind people whisper about when the pale faces of the moons are full, the kind they think of when new obituaries for a disaster continue to find their way into the newspaper after all this time.

Wolfwood came to him with rumors. Just rumors, but even rumors have power. 

Are they truly the hunters this time, or is it merely another trap for Vash the Stampede? Maybe, maybe not. It would have changed nothing, because it was Wolfwood standing in the doorway that morning, and that was reason enough.

 “Yeah. Just like old times.” The response is accompanied by a smile. A smile that is strained, stretched thin across his lips like it shouldn’t be there in the first place. He shields his eyes with the edge of his hand as he looks out towards the endless sea of sand, all the better to look away from Wolfwood and the unchanged warmth in his expression. 

Not a single charge station or town in sight.

His toma warbles and adjusts its footing in the sand to keep from slipping down the face of the dune that has granted them some respite from the twin suns’ scorching heat. 

Time for a change of subject.

“Should call it a day soon. If we set up for camp now the birds should have enough time for rest and water by the time we find a place to resupply.”

[angelictyphoon]

Roberto >> "You ever changed a tire on a dune buggy?"

"Mmnnno," Vash drawls, draping himself out on the open window of the motor carriage door to lean down and examine the fwupple-wubble-wobble of the depressurized tire flopping about the rim as Roberto drives them at a blistering pace across the sands. Slower, now, given that they're rolling on a flat.

Splitting up their efforts was supposed to be efficient. He and Roberto were in charge of resupplying travel necessities while Wolfwood and Meryl remained on the other side of town to secure a place to sleep and dinner.

The town of New Kowloon took inspiration from its defunct Earth counterpart. A walled off region openly hostile to anything but pedestrian traffic or human-powered vehicles all clustered around their precious Plant meant any enterprising raiders would have to fight their way through the densely stacked homes and businesses without the aid of their deleted muffler, rattle-can trucks and jalopies on foot...and then fight their way back out. Vash found the town rather charming, even if it meant that the fastest way for them to get from one side to the other was by wrapping around the outside of the town by buggy.

Vash heaves himself back into the carriage with a grunt. His hair looks wild from being windswept and he attempts to finger-comb it back into shape while looking over at Roberto. "Yup, it's flat! Honestly, I've never changed a tire before. Traveled toma-back, mostly. Or on foot."

[angelictyphoon]

“I didn’t mean you!” Vash bleats, too late to prevent the damage that has been done. Continuing alone, as he always has, ensures that his companions will not suffer harm as a result of his own failings. 

And it will hurt that much less when they leave, grow old, or otherwise.

“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere! Not with you guys around.” That wouldn’t be very nice, after all the time they have spent searching for him. What to do now that they’ve found him is another matter entirely. “Let’s stop by this cafe and wait for him.”

No one in this town knows who he is, yet.

Vash gives Meryl a long, pensive look. Whether intentional or not, he cannot deny the fact that he had a direct hand in Julai’s destruction. 

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

"I'm not everyone!" She's his friend, and maybe that doesn't make her special, but she'd thought he at least understood that it means she knows better. Knows he's not whatever people think he is, that Julai hadn't been his fault, that he wanted to help even if things don't always go the way he means them to.

She'd thought he understood that being friends means she's in his corner no matter what, but clearly not.

"Wolfwood'll probably find us soon. You at least sticking around until then?"

[angelictyphoon]

"The next town over brews good whiskey." (from Roberto)

Vash makes a face, his attempt to stifle a huffing laugh, at the second-oldest member of their party while Wolfwood and Meryl bang about and argue somewhere behind the lifted hood of the guttering and smoking dune buggy that has left them stranded in the middle of the sand sea.

“Do you even remember what water tastes like?”

The ever-present flask at Roberto’s flank has never held anything that wasn’t a spirit as far as Vash has seen. 

Of course, the question of whether they will actually be so fortunate to make it to the next town remains. Roberto does not seem worried despite the glares sent their way while they stand unhelpfully off to the side.

[angelictyphoon]

“I trieeed,” Vash whinges, the corners of his mouth downturning into a despondent frown. “Wolfwood nearly chewed off my head.” Not that he deigns to mention that the engineering of landfaring vehicles truly unique to No Man’s Land is best kept far, far away from him. “And then Meryl agreed with him!” 

That has never happened before. Defeated by the united front, Vash slunk away to sulk from afar next to Roberto. They could have at least let him hold a wrench. Or even a ceremonial bucket. No, nothing. Not even a scrap. 

“Maybe we can all get a bottle together.” Then again… Vash’s eyes bounce along to every member of the group, calculating. “A few bottles.”

Crossing his arms over his chest with a lingering pout, he peers sidelong at Roberto. “Wolfwood seems to know what he’s doing. We could get lucky. Did you spend a lot of time fixing up on the road? Figure you’ve run into a road bump or two in your career. Nothing beats being out in the field, huh?”

@angelictyphoon :: from here

"Well, that does not look too good," Roberto observed the smoke from the dune buggy. It earned him a "No shit" from Wolfwood and a menacing glare from Meryl.

Roberto peered over at Vash as he reacted to his statement. He was not expecting a laugh, but he could not help but have a hint of a smile curve on his lips.

"Oh, I do, I put water in my flask 'cause I haven't gotten a canteen yet," Roberto answered the Human Typhoon. It just tastes weird because it has been mostly alcoholic beverages. "But nothing beats a good bottle of whiskey."

He glanced at the smoking dune buggy and the glares at Wolfwood and Meryl sent their way. "I should probably save my water," he said. Roberto turned to Vash. "Suppose we should help them? If we can't, we might have to wait till the evening and push the buggy to the next town."

[eventheodds]

It's odd to hear him say it—to hear him ask about himself. Except, right now, he's not the Vash she knew, he's not even Vash, and out of everything she anticipated that would be discussed between them, she wasn't counting on this.

Rather, she'd been resigned into thinking they would never find him, that she and Milly would be wandering around No Man's Land hunting down leads and trails that had long since gone cold. The only time anyone would want to hear Vash's name was when they were inquiring about where he could be found so they could collect the bounty.

The wanted posters, while sparsed out the more they travelled away from densely populated towns and cities, were still up, along with a bunch of others where the bounties had yet to be collected.

She'd gotten into trouble when she was caught tearing them down, but continued to do so because Meryl Stryfe never turned her back on what she believed in.

"Where to start," she draws it out with hums, tapping her chin as if to appear deep in thought. "He carried around a gun but never wanted to use it—and if he did, it was never in the way it was supposed to be used. He fumbled around a lot; one time he got roped into a duel with one of the JuLai patrol officers and didn't even carry any bullets on him! I had to throw him one otherwise he would have been turned into Swiss cheese!"

"There's Swiss cheese?"

Meryl's head shoots up as she looks around, trying to spot Milly at the bar. "Not now, Milly! I was just using it as an expression."

"Oh, okay!"

After she's done craning her neck, Meryl notices that the diner's gone completely silent as everyone is either looking at her or at Milly. Someone clears their throat and diner life resumes as if nothing had happened.

"...but he was also selfless, always doing what he could wherever he could. He never wanted to give up on us, and I think I'm beginning to understand why..."

Her voice has become small again, like she's speaking for her ears alone but knows that Eriks is just beside her. "He better be ready to get a piece of my mind, though!" A laugh escapes her, but it's not the kind that has any mirth to it. Even to her own ears, it sounds empty, forced, and tinged with a terrible sadness.

It doesn't last as she squashes that down and their day continues. Even with avoiding the midday suns, it's still unbearably hot. Their tab had been paid for, with Milly making sure that Meryl got to the bill before Eriks did. There had been a comment about how it was alright to let your friends take care of you every now and then. Meryl smiled at Milly's sound advice, even while she could feel her heartstrings being pulled.

By the time they've made it to Grandma Sheryl's home, Meryl feels sluggish and more than ready to face plant into a bed and sleep for a couple of hours. Not before introductions, however, as she watches Milly acquaint herself with the small family of grandmother and granddaughter and their permanent guest.

She watches as he moves about this space with ease and comfort—something she's not seen him do since meeting him. There had always been a sense of urgency, she thinks, when he joined their small group. Perhaps the only time he seemed at peace was when he was fast asleep in the back of the truck.

"You have a lovely home, Grandma Sheryl!" Milly is the first to break the ice, as she is wont to do, and Meryl follows suit, nodding her head and standing next to her friend. "We're friends of Eriks," Meryl says when Lina looks up, her brows knitted with suspicion.

"Oh! What lovely young ladies! I'm guessing that since our Eriks brought us home some cheesecake that you three stopped at the diner? I don't suppose you're hungry right now, but we would love for you two to join us for supper tonight."

Milly nods her acceptance, Meryl catches Eriks' gaze and shrugs in a manner that lets him know him know he'd been right.

"We'd love to!"

She can feel Milly gently nudging her elbow into her side. "Probably a good thing because we're sort of low on money," she whispers. Meryl makes a mental note to look at their remaining funds tonight after supper.

"Oh, and since you're here, I would also extend an invitation for you to stay the night as well! This town isn't quite safe, especially at night, what with those bandits coming and going as they please."

Meryl can see, from her periphery, that Lina reacts to this. She notices that the young girl looks over her shoulder, like she expects someone to be there.

"Your offer is very generous and we would love to," Meryl says, feeling a sense of relief knowing they wouldn't have to trek back into town in the dark. Milly approaches Grandma Sheryl, offering her aid wherever she needs it and Milly announces she'll be in the kitchen, helping to prepare supper. Lina has gone back to her school work, seeming to force her concentration on what she has before her, which leaves Eriks.

"You were right," she says with a slight chuckle. "I mean, we're thankful, because it means we don't have to head back into town during night, and we'll be avoiding any gangs that might be wandering out—oh! I didn't tell you what he did to the Bad Lads Gang, did I?"

“Dessert is a must, or I’ll have no peace,” he confirms. 

Eriks blinks multiple times at the full plate of breakfast food laid out in front of them, uncomprehending at first. They didn’t order anything more off the menu and– ah. Layla, glibly apologetic, explains the nature of her delivery.

“Thanks, Layla.” 

Layla winks back at them both and tends to the table of elderly mahjong players as they feud over shaky alliances. Then, glancing at Meryl with a smile, Eriks says to her, “Your friend Milly is thoughtful.”

With the imminent upturning of the life he has cobbled together so far, his stomach is the least of his concerns. Milly tried though, extended her consideration where she did not need to, and Meryl too. So he will try in turn to appreciate what was offered without complaint. Nodding his head vigorously, Eriks leans down, hunting down multiple potatoes and crowning them on the tines of his fork before triumphantly stuffing them into his cheek.

“You’re sho nice, Merrul,” Eriks comments through a mouthful of salted, seasoned potato. His eyes feel more watery than usual, and he suspects Meryl’s undisguised hope has something to do with it. 

Food does wonders to ease tensions, to provide an additional point of focus when conversation would otherwise feel too difficult. They certainly have plenty of food to finish, and Eriks is keen on helping Meryl rescue as much ice cream as possible before it melts out onto the plate. That means fighting their way through a carby, greasy, and protein-rich breakfast. 

What’s the old proverb he got in a fortune cookie once…every journey begins with a single step? 

“Can you tell me about him? What he was like?” This person he used to be that now hides within himself, sneaking memories through the cracks.

By the time the plates have been cleaned off and Eriks procured a slice of cheesecake packaged away for Grandma Sheryl and Lina to share, he has insisted and failed multiple times to convince Meryl to let him help with the bill. Milly proves an exceptional bodyblocker for someone who hardly appears to even be trying. It could just be the alarmingly disarming smile. 

Two against one, the girls inevitably win out. 

“Alright, have it your way. I’m gonna hear it from Grandma Sheryl now…” Eriks sighs, holding the slice of cheesecake against his chest and resigning himself to an as of yet undelivered lecture. Bemused, Eriks anticipates that Meryl and Milly will face a series of indisputable invitations. “Well, you both can expect that she’ll invite you to stay for dinner, insist you take one of the guest rooms for the night, join us for a homemade breakfast and…maybe try to convince you to stay through lunch, if Grandma Sheryl is really enjoying herself. Before I moved in, it was just the two of them.”

Eriks takes the lead as they walk, directing the party through denser streets branching out from the center of town and out to where there are several private residences spread out from the cluster of businesses and tenements. As is the case with most smaller towns in No Man’s Land, the buildings all share the same unremarkable architecture. Slipshod and patchy stucco work married with scavenged sheets of metal stolen from the remains of fallen ships, fences and posts made from sunbleached worm bones, and rooftop gutters funneled directly into large barrels to catch water during rare instances of rain.

The suns still broil the top of their heads relentlessly by the time they arrive. Eriks leans down, cradling his package carefully in one arm while undoing the latch of the waist-high gate. He can hear and smell Grandma Sheryl busily working over the stove when he lets them in through the front door. Judging by the spread of homework and textbooks laid out on the table, Lina must be home as well. Likely shuffling about the pantry, from the sounds of it.

“Hi, Grandma Sheryl. I, um, brought some friends home. Uh.”

He hadn't given full commitment to preparing an introductory speech right up until this moment.

[angelictyphoon]

Vash narrows his eyes. Not amused, absolutely exasperated…fond. She heard him, quite clearly. Whether Meryl will take his warning to heart, he cannot tell. Right now her headspace is elsewhere, filled with the clickety-clack of typewriter keys and the white noise chuk-chuk-chuk of a printing press. 

She heard him. And still…Meryl does not turn away or bow her head. She faces him head-on, with a steady heart and a calm, resolute stare. He has no reason to doubt her if she can still level her gaze on the Humanoid Typhoon after having chased and caught a storm. Witnessed the terrible destruction left in its wake. This was not a burden Vash ever wanted to share.

For a moment, Vash the Stampede looks entirely unguarded. His smile, though faint, though quivering, is genuine this time. 

Meryl’s hand is small and gentle. He moves his right hand over hers, sandwiching Meryl between bottle-glass prosthetic and skin. Rotating his wrist so that Meryl’s hand is turned upward, he traces two fingers, one gloved, one not, across the heart line creasing her palm.

“We, huh?” he echoes. Looking down at their hands, Vash drops his chin towards his chest with a slow shake of his head like he can’t quite believe the sound of it.

Wouldn’t it be nice not to travel alone? To hear the sound of voices. Laughter and bickering and silly stories. Kindness and company as they bump along the dunes in a car too small for this many people or tear off freshly roasted portions of worm meat off the spit. 

Vash wars with himself. His own desires, the threats they will face. Kindness should never be a mistake, yet how can he claim to feel worthy of it after all his mistakes? He strove for so long to be the person who would uphold their promises, who would never take a life, who would find some way to stop Knives so that Rem’s sacrifice would not be in vain.

I still deserve to eat and laugh, right?  

“...Alright.” Vash eventually relents. It’s not an agreement. Not exactly. He isn’t about to give explicit permission for Meryl to tag along to the frontlines of danger as she pleases. That isn’t the intent behind this at all. “I can’t stop you if this is what you want.” 

Vash looks at her again, studying her face and the stubborn set of her jaw as she looks back at him. “If it ever comes down to it, don’t feel bad if you have to run away. There are always other ways to help people. Your stories could make a real difference out there.”

Survive. So you can continue to tell them.

“Let’s go below deck and find something to eat. Bet you’ll be happy to feast on something that doesn’t glow green!”

He gives her hand one last squeeze before releasing it and jerking his chin off towards the stairwell leading back into the hallways snaking through the sandsteamer. They could try to find the deck with the main restaurant or purchase bagfuls of snacks from a window vendor, whichever came first, looked most appealing, or... Hopefully he still has enough double dollars for all that. Vash pats his coat pocket. His wallet did feel awfully light the last time he pulled it out to pay for his fare.

“...Maybe…we can borrow some money from Roberto.” He makes a face recalling the exorbitant invoices that their resident undertaker so happily doled out. “Or Wolfwood.”

"What, and deny me the biggest scoop ever?" She's letting herself get carried away with ideas of how this could all play out, when she sends in all her findings and reports; Roberto would vouch for her and there would be undeniable proof to back up everything she'll have submitted.

She thinks about the moments preceding the first time she encountered Vash—no water, the battery having died out, and forced to trek through the stifling desert while Roberto made quips about how this world would eat her alive. She'd not paid him any mind, but even Meryl couldn't block out his words forever.

There was some grain of truth in there, as there always seems to be whenever Roberto gives his anecdotes, reminding her she's just a newbie.

It's something she's had to deal with ever since choosing this profession. It's also given her so much grief because one look at her and everyone thinks she's not mature enough to handle what's coming to her, like she won't be able to withstand the truths that come with this job.

Sometimes it gets difficult to ignore those voices.

So, she does what she's done best and deflects in a manner that allows to give herself strength. If her fellows hadn't given her any of their support, then she'd it herself. Top of her class only carries so much weight, and that weight is mostly on paper.

When she hears that plea, however, that single word that breaks through the loud noises of the wind and of the sandsteamer, every thought she's had up until this moment comes to an abrupt halt.

He's begging her not to get involved further than this. He doesn't want any of them to go further than this for him.

It's true that she has more than enough material to write many pieces, submit them and have her words printed and sent out onto the airwaves of radios and barely functioning television screens. Things also get passed around by word of mouth, and if it's anything to do with Vash, she knows the traction will be there.

There's a heaviness to her heart suddenly as she thinks about all this—how she's using his name to further her career; perhaps it started out like that, back when she first got assigned to fieldwork and with Roberto as her mentor, but it's become something far more than that.

It will become something far more than that.

His earnest expression has her staring at him with her eyes, wide and dark as the wind passes through and she can hear the faint clinking of her earrings as they sway in the breeze.

"I know what I signed up for when I took this job, Vash," she says; her words are firm, her stare unwavering, but she's so brutally honest and more certain of this than she's ever been with anything else. "I know there are risks—there's always going to be risks, and we all have to accept that."

She reaches out to grab hold of his prosthetic hand, both hard angles and organic in design and feel. The colour of it reminds her of pictures she's seen of the oceans—the deepest parts where blue and cerulean would mix together, then easing into the shallows and tide pools that contained so much life.

Pictures can barely do the real thing justice, but she's always loved the combined colours of blue and green together.

Her fingers wrap around his hand, feeling the faint markings of lines etched onto the prosthetic and she has to resist from tracing them with her thumb, though she barely manages that.

[angelictyphoon]

His fault for letting it go this far. 

Wolfwood has reminded him time and time again that they are not the same, that normal people do ugly things and must deal with the consequences. There is a reason for everything, even if Wolfwood argues that criminals are not worth the time. Criminals, bandits, robbers, murderers– how many of them chose this life because it was their best option?

The argument became a physical one; trading fists on top of words. Vash can feel his thigh swelling already even as he drops to the ground with his legs crossed and mouth set in a thin line as he relaxes his left arm and works to disconnect his prosthetic from its anchor.

Vash grumbles to himself, wincing as the connection past his shoulder severs and he places the crystalline arm down beside his bedroll.

The irony in Wolfwood pummeling him to prove a point is not lost on Vash. 

“If this is about people getting what they deserve then I guess I got it.”

Throwing more petty words doesn’t help and he knows he should be better than that, but Wolfwood was so smug. The fact that their ideologies are so dissimilar is not news, but having it forced in his face stings more than the aching of his leg. 

“So you’ve made your point.”

❛  alright, you’ve won. happy now?  ❜

⩥ @angelictyphoon || five words [OPEN]

❛  alright, you’ve won. happy now?  ❜

"I could stand to hear it a few more times," Wolfwood grins at the Humanoid Typhoon as the blond gets himself up, dusting his pants off, "Not gonna give it a few more tries just to be sure?"

The two found themselves in a heated argument—he's not even sure what it was about anymore—and got into a tussle about it. Nicholas, an expert in argumentative wrestling, threw logic out the window as soon as the physical altercation was on the table. To him, it's just another way to show affection—not that he'd ever admit that.

Just as suddenly as the fight began, the end of the fight was heralded by a surprised yelp and a fierce shove that sent Wolfwood back from Vash a few feet. With Vash's surrender, that meant he won! Logic prevails over the Stampede's whimsical, impossible morals today—something about the blond needing to fight for his dignity?

Oh, right, he rolled over for a robber today without trying to fight back at all. There weren't any casualties, so Vash considered it a win—which didn't sit well with Wolfwood at all. It's not right for the man to let humans walk all over him like that, and if he had to prove it with some methods he learned growing up in an orphanage, so be it.

Coldly, Vash turns and marches back to the campfire to set up his sleeping roll... far away from the undertaker's. His gait has a limp, too.

'Shit, I actually hurt him.'

"Hey—wait, come back Blondie—"