#Legato Bluesummers might speak to you

[puppet-king-louisa]

If you like Cirsium Zorba you’d probably like Legato Bluesummers

[bluestringpuppeteer]

She looks just as bewildered by the sentiment as he would be and it makes a small, painful smile tug at the corners of his lips.

How many others with the same eyes will he meet, he wonders. Too many, whatever the number is. Always too many.

Gracefully, he shifts from kneeling before her to sitting beside her, withdrawing the small box of beads from it's place in his pocket. Her eyes are turned from his and he makes no effort to recapture their attention. It's painful enough to see a glimpse of yourself in someone else, there is no reason to make them both stare it down.

"My name is Legato Bluesummers. I met Tae some time back and she spoke of you briefly. I surmised that was you, when I saw how she behaved as you two walked together." He'd not been expecting the mirror, otherwise he'd likely have simply let the two of them be even after he saw Lilith alone waiting.

"I hope you might forgive my presumption. It is... not often I see the same emptiness in others as I see in the mirror. I hoped... Mmm. Well, I suppose I hoped I might offer you some manner of the help I've received lately. I am, however, not very good at it."

What he is good at is arranging the beads in patterns, nothing amazing or overly eye-catching but pretty at least, and then furrowing his brow in concentration to weave near invisible metal threads through them. The beads twitch and shift slightly with the movement and the wires become more and more visible as he winds more of them together as the thread for the bracelet.

"I would not presume to ask you to speak on what causes your emptiness. That would hardly be my place. But... I have found it... helps. Speaking it makes it... more real. Somehow. And real things are more easily vanquished."

⋆˙⟡ Her... eyes? She stared at him, matching gaze in some measure to understand the man in bluebells ( they match his hair... she mused to herself. ) She did not know him at all, but he spoke as if he had known her his whole life. It was a curious thing. But she had no desire to allow others into her own burdens, regardless of how well-equipped they may be to carry them.

It always brought her pain to know that there were others who understood. She did not know how to help them. How could she, when she could barely help herself. 'You'll do more harm to ... those around you by putting on a brave face.' came to mind. She really should just stop being a burden wherever she went.

" O-oh... " she breathed, glancing back towards her own collection of beads and charms.

" Well... if you wish to, I suppose I have no reason to say otherwise. " who was she to dictate the choices other people made? She gestured for him to sit with her, it was not her place to be kneeled towards.

" But... you must forgive me, sir. " Her eyes remained focused on her own task. " I do not... know who you are. Nor, do I know how you know of me. "

[blankticket]

Vash mentally notes how the string-puller's casual wear underneath his coat is, more or less, the same outfit that he's wearing. It's striking how much the two share in similarities, big or small. Regardless, to him, Legato has been a normal person; even knowing that he's caused his predecessor some deal of harm, there isn't anything to Vash's knowledge that depreciates his personhood. Right now, he's a friend in need, recovering from something awful. Vash is glad he can still make him smile.

"Bluesummers…" Heartfelt worry creeps over his face. With the amount of attention he's paying to the other, it isn't hard for Vash to hear how hoarse the other's throat sounds. It's good he has the sense to speak instead of whisper; that could strain his vocal cords further.

"(Hey, if it hurts to talk—I don't mind, um…)" A lost-tech digit lightly taps twice at the side of his temple. "(You, talkin' in my head, the way y'did when we first met.)"

The idea of that telepathy was easier to handle when consent was discussed like this, prior; Vash had experienced this before, but never with any human before Legato. Dependent Plants "spoke" differently from the way humans communicated, too. He was down for whatever worked best to ensure his friend's wellbeing and recovery.

Vash chooses the same type of donut that Legato's chosen, wanting to try out the same food that his friend's eating. He takes a bite out of it, nods in appreciation of the seat offered, and takes it.

Closer now, he swallows and cautiously gives Legato's throat a look, trying to see any residual evidence of what might have happened to him. Sometimes Spiralian deaths left scars—sometimes they didn't.

"(And thanks, pal. 'S it cool if I ask about what happened…?—Um, but, you don't haveta share if you don't wanna.)"

Legato is sipping on his glass of water when the door very slowly creeks open and Vash pokes his head in and he does huff softly in amusement as the blond "sneaks" inside. There is a smile, even if it's faint and tired.

Legato looks much smaller, without his bulky coat and its pauldron or even his boots right now. Just wearing a long sleeved, black turtleneck with the collar pulled down and back pants, he looks almost like a normal person even.

"Happy Donut Day, Vash," he says softly, not quite a whisper like Vash but low enough not to carry. His voice is still rough and hoarse. "Thank you for coming over." He accepts the napkin and plucks a sugar-covered jelly donut out of the box, biting into it with clear relish. Legato folds one leg under himself and turns so there's room on the couch and tilts his head at the empty space in clear invitation.

He's more relaxed now, with someone else here to help fill the silence and keep him from being alone with his thoughts while he couldn't sleep. Not yet, not after all that he and Knives had spoken of and everything from the other day. Phantom hunger still gnaws at him but the donut helps, devoured perhaps more rapidly then is technically polite. Swallowing hurts too but he ignores it. Surely it will go away with time.

[duel-king]

"It... doesn't feel like anything..." Seto squints. He becomes bored of messing with the hologram and crosses his arms. His thoughts instead become occupied by Legato's sudden bizarre way of speaking. What the hell-- no. Nope. Best not to ask questions; the answers will only make less sense, he assumes.

Aaaaand I assumed correctly. Something about plants and his power to sense electrical signals. Yeah, sure. He just watches his roommate silently as he makes himself at home and becomes acquainted with Mimi, and it takes nearly all of his willpower to not break his poker face or spit out some kind of sarcastic comment. Pick your battles, and whatnot. The ever-diligent Mimi, however, is determined to learn more.

"No apology needed, Legato Bluesummers." She smiles warmly to express reassurance. "Though I do have several inquiries, if I may-"

Great, here we go. Kaiba rolls his eyes. Well, not like he has anything better to do. Some of this babble might be mildly entertaining, at least.

"Firstly, How is the word 'plant' defined in your home world? I'm having trouble understanding what you mean when you say that I'm similar to one."

"Tch-" Kaiba chuckles, but plays it off like he's stifling a cough.

"Secondly, I wasn't informed of a third housemate. Not that it matters to me, but Mr. Kaiba may benefit from actually paying attention to further details."

"I can tell that, she's not made of blood and bone and muscle. She would feel like you if she was and wouldn't grate on my senses so. How odd." He blinks when she introduces herself and tilts his head curiously, like a cat thats seen something its not sure is edible or not. He doesn't extend his hand to mimic the younger man, simply tucks them behind his back and dips his head slightly.

"Pleasure, Mimi. You are aware then? Delightful. I've never seen something like yourself, only the Plants back home could be said to be anything approaching similar. I suppose I'll simply have to get used to sensing you there. My apologies, my powers can be somewhat sensitive and such odd electrical signals are unusual and thus rather grating." He doesn't even hesitate to treat the projection as if she is alive and simply another form of life from humans, far more respectful of her then he'd been of Kaiba. After all, the man felt as human as any and Legato still didn't think much of humanity.

"I assume she's sustained by your phone? Hm. Carrying about your companion everywhere you go, how interesting." Deciding he's comfortable enough with the idea of Kaiba (and Mimi) he steps over to the door to shed his boots and coat, the former tucked neatly out of the way and the later hung on a hook beside the door. He's careful to mind the spikes don't point outward.

"You should know I am not the only one here, there is another by the name of Knives who lives with me. He can be... somewhat testy and is not overly familiar with humans beside myself and a few others. So if he does anything particularly odd and inhuman please ignore it." Even on a good day, in a good mood, Knives could be... weird. For being near 200 years old and having watched humans for so long he was not very good at blending in.

[bluestringpuppeteer]

Well, at least she was not entirely adverse to speaking with him, though her wary bearing is noted. Noted and approved of, for he was a very dangerous enemy indeed.

At least once he had proper access to all his power. In the meantime, he was only as dangerous as any human with an extra sense and a strong tendency toward violence he can't currently back up.

He settles back with the small doll in his hands, carefully sewing even stitches that it would be sturdy enough to last and not easily give in to time. He only looks up when she settles and smiles when she asks his name.

"Legato Bluesummers. And yours?"

His gaze lowers back to his task, though gold eyes flick back up to her after every few stitches. Its not overly necessary for him to keep eyes on her to know what she's doing, how she's moving, but he prefers to see the person he's speaking to regardless. A fascinating anomaly she is.

"Perhaps you might answer why your heart does not beat. I've met at least one with a similar condition but he does not feel like you do. Its very curious." He doesn't care to beat around the bush, not when he has something he wants to know, a question to be answered.

⚔️ // one like yourself. so blue WAS evaluating her. the prospect would be wholly unnerving if byleth was not well-accustomed to war and its wide berth of disguised challenges. a wary instinct told byleth that it would be better - wiser - to leave while her senses were sharp and keen upon his mysterious advance. she had not done so with edelgard , and perhaps that had been a folly unto itself.

but sometimes it was better to keep a close eye on a potential enemy. to watch their movements and tally their whereabouts. keep your friends close , and your enemies closer. and perhaps that applied here. he was curious about her in a way that byleth couldn't quite understand besides his eagle-eyed stare.

were this encounter a game of chess , his pawn had been set forth into play. there were people who relied on her ... and so she found she could not ignore the invitation.

"no. i'll join you," she said. "i still have much to learn about this world's customs. i thank you for being willing to teach. i'll return with supplies."

... and return she did , seating herself across from the man with a handful of fabric and material. "may i ask your name?"

[amoirsetpacis]

★ --;; The heart still in his throat gets constricted there as it tightens, eyes wide and every cell of him on high alert, finally finding a focal point. The breath he takes rattles with an unease reserved for this man only, his own proclaimed hunting mark. A parallel has yet to exist- which his probably what he had wanted, anyway.

Brandishing a gun at him-- that was something Vash was used to; but holding the presence Bluesummers did, knowing exactly what was hidden away from his own eyes, what was possible-- all of those puzzle pieces leave Vash coiled tight like a spring locked in place. The knowledge of what he'd done, forever imprinted in the back of his eyelids.

The real question, though, the one electric in the back of Vash's mind-- was this him? Or was this another horrible spectre conjured by the mist still swirling angrily around the both of them, thrown about wildly by the self-made destruction of its own creations, just as that amalgamation of his brother had been?

Any comfort that could have been found in the fact that they-- whether this Legato was real or not-- were alone, any opening for Vash to have reached for the person who had walked headlong into that fight, is swiftly quashed by the sight in his own periphery.

Because if they had at least been alone, no one else to reach for, then maybe that single horrific memory wouldn't have to be given form, at least not in its entirety. But luck has never once graced Vash the Stampede when it came to this man, and his only saving grace is that the younger Wolfwood wasn't clearly in the other's line of sight-- regardless of whether or not that would even matter, in the end. That the screams of failing engines might have managed to cover the sound only honed ears like their own might have caught.

Vash keeps his eyes fixed ahead of him, locked solely onto Bluesummers, in the hope that it would be enough, for now. Go bubbles up hot in his throat, panic fueled, desperation, as nerve endings and muscle memory already relive that moment, those seconds. Get away from here, he wishes he could scream.

But instead he starts stalling. Hopes, somehow, that it will be enough to get the young undertaker to leave. Doubts it will be.

"Did you speak with him?" Vash asks instead of making the first move, voice as steady as he can make it. "My brother?"

@cerebralbleu > @punishercross

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. "

[amoirsetpacis]

★ --;; With the way Bluesummers refuses to say Vash's name it's no surprise that Wolfwood would get the same treatment. It still bothers him more than it probably ought to, though, but he pushes it aside. The two of them might not have the same sort of track record, but there's no doubt that it's far from anything positive. Especially considering the memory of Wolfwood's reaction upon Legato's appearance here.

"I meant with your leg," he says, peering around a corner before continuing onwards. He's had--. Enough. Enough fighting experience with Legato to know his limits, at least to some degree; this situation is so far from that, though, so vastly different from the desperation of fighting against him. That blind fury that had shone so vividly through golden irises is not there. The hatred that had driven him that far doesn't show itself here-- at least, not to the same depths as it had then. Not to the same degree that horrific mirror had had in that alley stained with so much blood.

"It wouldn't be good if it got aggravated too much while it's still healing." Which is also the truth. He never once expects anyone to be able to keep up with him. Or Wolfwood, for that manner, despite the comparison the other had jumped to.

Continuing to speak as they are probably isn't a good idea, what with those things stalking about, but Legato has yet to give him any more warnings and sensitive ears aren't picking up anything in the nearby vents, so Vash keeps on anyway in the same soft voice.

"I know you hate me," he says, "but that's fine. So do a lot of other people. Even my own little critter hates me too, sometimes. Most of the time. That doesn't mean I won't help you if you need it." For just a moment, aqua eyes slide completely over to the figure next to him, as though trying to cement what he'd said. It's immediately awkward though, and he goes back to carefully scanning.

Legato doesn't begrudge him having the Colt out, he just doesn't want to look at it. God help him if, for some unfathomable reason, he ever has to fire the thing again. With Stampede between him and the gun, its easier to pretend it isn't there and focus on the things here and now and not disasters that have passed.

The psychic keeps careful pace with the Plant, extremely aware of the blob of red in his peripheral vision. Its beyond strange to think that they're allies at the moment, no matter how hesitant. More galling to think its because Legato asked for Stampede's help.

Livio is going to give him that stupid sunny smile when he hears and Legato will throw something at his head for it.

It annoys Legato that his steps aren't as whisper quiet as Stampede's and then it annoys him that he's annoyed about it. He's quiet enough himself, just not as much as Stampede is. It's fine, he's not going to find another reason to be jealous of the Plant. He's not.

"Not as fast as your preferred human," he attempts to keep the grumble out of his voice and isn't sure he's succeeded. "I am not enhanced like the Eye. A bit faster then the average non-civilian, a little slower then these things run." He glances over with brows furrowed slightly when Stampede asks about Capriccio.

"I can feel him, vaguely. He's skittish and likely fairly deep into the station." Legato pauses, debates whether he's going to ask and then just does. "Are you not simply going to find someone else to help me? Surely you have your own companion to find?"

[blankticket]

This is… A lot more intense than Vash figured a first-meeting with Legato Bluesummers would go, in a completely unexpected direction to boot.

He can hear it clearly—even without it ringing in his head, Vash can hear his own brother speak through Legato's mouth, through his heart. An incessant rage leveraged against humanity at large, speaking as though the experiences of such complex beings could be folded into one. His heart aches to think how much Legato must have suffered to be swayed by that rhetoric; to hate even his own existence so violently.

Had Naï, or any other iteration of himself, ever told his allies about the circumstances of the Big Fall? Even Zazie the Beast seemed to be out of the loop. That truth might have to be shared with Legato sooner than later, but the pacifist figures he'll take things as slow as he can. He can see just how much it hurts Legato now, to have his world upturned in a single conversation.

"Spirale's… Contained. And yeah, I've been around humanity for decades. They won't—they're not gonna destroy this world."

And Knives had come to him first thing, yet found it unimportant to talk about the bigger-picture conditions of Spirale? It didn't bode well to learn this; to consider the implication Knives yet wanted to keep control over what Legato believed of the reality around him. And—it isn't like he expected the other Vash to be on talking terms with the string-puller, either.

So who's there for Legato?

"Hey—can you look at me…?" The Stampede moves to squat before the man, so that his friend doesn't have to crane his neck up through hair to glare at him, and provides him with a face to focus on.

"If you wanna find what that purpose is now, you can. And, look. Even without one, you're still breathing; you're still here. And I'm here with you; I've never met anyone who's deserved t'be abandoned."

Its a good thing he hadn't tried to touch Legato, the man was liable to lash out at touch on a good day when he wasn't in the middle of a breakdown, let alone right now. But this Vash's voice still reaches past the panic, if only because its exactly the same as his own Stampede. The inflection is different, the tone is different but the voice, spot on.

He growls when he looks up slightly, one burning gold eye peeking through the curtain of hair he's still got his fists tangled in. Trying to reassure him? Why? There are no Plants here to crusade over, so Master Knives doesn't need to fight, to use his powers, to fade away. All well and good.

But what about the things in Legato's nightmares, the things humans do to each other? As long as there were humans around they'd continue on their ways, ripping each other apart at the seams at the slightest provocation. They don't deserve to keep living, keep expending, spreading their disease across worlds.

"Master... is fine. He came to me, first thing," he manages, winding his fingers tighter to bring back slightly more clarity. "The humans here... they cannot hurt one such as him." Despite the loss of power, Legato's faith in his Master is unshaken. At least in this regard.

"But they bring ruin wherever they go regardless. You know this. Surely you know of Earth. They spread like a disease and destroy all that they touch! If you're anything like him, you've felt it! I have to burn out the infection! Its my purpose!" He yanks and snarls again, blue strands slipping through his fingers to flutter to the ground.

"Help me?" He laughs and it cracks partway. "How are you to help me? I'm one of them too, my only salvation for my pathetic existence is a death at the hands of my Master when my purpose is through. And now, here, I can't even have that satisfaction!" There are tears slipping unnoticed down his face as he hunches again. "What am I to do here? What else is left!?"