#amoirsetpacis 10

[punisheye]

Really, it's a beautiful night.

Past the canopy of leaves there isn't a cloud in the sky, with the stars twinkling merrily and the moon shining bright. There is the sound of other people, the rustling of the trees, a distant owl hooting, the call of a nightingale. The breeze is sweet, warm, gentle.

And they're lost.

It's a maze, so of course they're lost. An elaborate labyrinth whose hedges reach high, blossoming with flowers, illuminated by soft, colorful little floating lights. He's wondering just how he got into this situation, because he's always finding himself in these situations but this time he did it willingly.

Because Vash suggested coming here, thinking it'd be fun. A nice challenge. It's definitely pretty, sure, but Wolfwood is getting progressively more frustrated the more time passes and the more dead ends that they hit.

"I told ya we shoulda gone left!" Wolfwood grouses, turning his chin up to look up the towering hedges on either side of them. It'd be great if they could just cheese it and scale these things, but that definitely would not be considered a win and those weird little winged creatures would absolutely be pissed about it. He doesn't want to be turned into a toad or something.

They hit another dead end and Wolfwood turns to Vash, shoving an accusatory finger right in the center of his chest.

"Now we're lost! This whole thing better be fuckin' worth the headache, or else yer gonna have to make it up to me big time."

This was probably meant to be romantic but they just ended up bickering... as usual.

@amoirsetpacis

[blankticket]

He's laughing weakly, sheepishly, the moment his predecessor sighs. There's a cue for this younger Plant to protest against the light-hearted threat to be pestered, but—Vash freezes up on playing along with the script, realizing then and there that he really wouldn't mind it. In fact, he's further realizing it's something he's wanted.

The swift return to technical talk is a welcome lifesaver, though, especially with how every sentence shared is surprising in its information. It's just impersonal enough of a topic to drive his focus. And boy, is there a lot to say on that front…!

"Mm! It's got to do with the neural circuitry of it, from my understanding, the way it's all wired up (well, in itself but also where it's affixed onto me, n'my own nervous system), which determined the way the arm wholesale is articulated. Signals n'actuators n'haptics all need to be calibrated properly, possible only with the material being used, here, which in itself is finite, but…"

Vash's voice is steady in his following ramble-tangent about lost-tech proprioception, that his sense of touch, distance, spatial awareness, dexterity, (and so on) were all kept in mind and accounted for by Brad through his dedicated craftsmanship; pressure sensors alone wouldn't be seen as satisfactory, no offense intended. The gunslinger briefly mentions a line of prototypical hardware, to lead into the fact that this latest version is Brad's self-proclaimed 'masterpiece'. Fingers waggle at that, showing off opaque fingernails and the wear against plated knuckles.

It's largely clinical, technical talk, up until Vash bumps back into the talk of sensation. Now he's accidentally back within this territory, where his words might reveal his own feelings and experiences regarding the prosthesis being built with the capacity to endure damage.

"—Feeling all that was a little hard to get acclimated with, but it's sort of a trade-off, if I want the feedback to be as instant and responsive as it is. 'S been worth it. "As scarce n'pricey as the material's gettin', it's remarkably durable and… Er, careful with that. Oh!"

While his arm is being held by Vash, the prosthetic comes off at the elbow, marked where the red strap of fabric is cuffed around the outer part. The younger Plant jumps in place where he sits, wincing and letting out a squawk of wordless surprise.

★ --;; A stretch of silence sits between them again before Vash heaves a sigh; he's not better than the younger, after all. Calling out that sort of damage any more than he already had- well. He's had his own share of wounds he probably shouldn't have taken, either. They both know it. Still, he nudges the other Stampede where his arm is still wrapped around his shoulders.

"You keep gettin' all up in arms about me doin' dumb stuff. You gotta care about yourself, too." Yet another case of pot talking to the kettle; though it really is something Vash has been working on. Trying to get better at-- try being the key word, anyway. One step forward and two steps back, as it were. "Or I'll start pesterin' you the same way you do me."

His own metal hand twists to gently take hold of its teal counterpart, more out of curiosity than anything. "Brad's been doin' your stuff? He only recently started workin' on mine." 'Recently' being entirely relative; it's been a good several years of work by now, his studies from Kain and the old man finally coming to fruition-- regardless of the amount of grumbling Vash now sat on the receiving end of.

"How do your sensors work?" The deceptively delicate-looking facsimile of wrist joints twist as he observes, eyes sharp. "Mine're just pressure sensors. Can't feel much past that-- no heat or cold or pain or anything like that. Still, I think he'd have my head if I banged mine up again." Never mind the plethora of times he's ripped the thing entirely out of its dock.

[sunsage]

⭐️💻📚😍🏆 (i'd send more than this but i'm keeping it simple for u <3)

shout-outs of awesomeness

⭐️ ― convincing portrayal of a canon character

uhh this is where I show I don't actually follow too many fandoms... so i'll go with something i'm familiar with and say @plantamagicae writes a very good willow! i can really hear the character voice through the writing and all the interactions are fun to read!

💻 ― excellent writing

@light-imperfected or @sageshadowed or the now gone Ishmael blog (rip). i am not biased lune's writing motivated me to write more and get better for over a year now. it's got a good flow and just the right amount of flair. i frequently reread their threads and not just the ones we had together

📚 ― nice threads to read

hmm i enjoy many threads that come onto my dash... i suppose lately i have had most fun reading @amoirsetpacis threads! there's a big variety in vibes there and the writing itself is really good so i like to check them out whenever i see one on dash, sometimes even when i don't have the context of previous replies

😍 ― admiring from afar

@schleckermaul is the one that comes to mind. i don't think our characters would have much of an interesting dynamic together but i still enjoy seeing the threads and headcanons and whatnot whenever they are on dash!

🏆 ― 10/10 blog, would recommend

@eusyram now that she's back, i have to give a shoutout to one of the funniest/most interesting oc concepts i know! give mary a follow or you hate fun

(also breaking my rules for this one to shoutout an indie blog i greatly enjoy which is @inmiasma. 10/10 cast of characters, 10/10 writing, what else can i say. check them out if you're in indie spaces at all)

[wldrose]

It's been two, or about three days and still no answer. He had made it out before she did, at least she had hoped. He would have gotten the help that he needed in order to live another day, OR so she had hoped. The feeling of having fucked up is at the center of her heart. She feels heavy, her whole body feels weighted down as she continuously replays what should have, could have, and would have happened at that spaceship with the aliens. Was there a better option? For where ALL four of them would leave without a problem?

Tch.

Is...Vash dead?

He can't be. His name was on the contact list still. She had changed the blond haired Vash's name to Stamps so she didn't get confused. Vash was still here.

Text to Vash: Are you okay? (11:00 AM) Text to Vash: don't answer that. you prolly arent and (11:10 AM) Text to Vash: (I'm at the hospital (Deleted message). Hey...we both made it out right? Vash? (11:12 PM) Text to Vash: oi dont ignore me (1:30 PM)

She stares at the last message sent and sighs, sliding back down into the hospital bed and resting her phone against her chest. "..."

@amoirsetpacis

[punisheye]

Beep beep !

meme / no longer accepting. @amoirsetpacis

10. a loving text / 4. a late-night text.

At 3AM he's finally heading home from the club. The train car is mostly empty save for him and a young man asleep with his head pressed against the window. He's tired, too, and he really wants to just get home, climb into bed next to Vash, and pass out 'til noon.

Vash is probably asleep now, or at least trying to be. Still, Wolfwood opens up his messages.

[ text ] Asleep? I'm on my way home now. Busy night. Missing you

[ text ] You eat tonight? You better have. I made sure to put the leftovers on the counter for you before I left

[ text ] If youre not in bed yet I'm gonna throw you in there when I get back

[ text ] Love you

[blankticket]

Giving into the need for comfort, the younger Plant leans in to accept Vash's embrace. Soon enough his crying flags, fingers apologetically swiping away at the tears that had fallen onto the held prosthetic. It remains held, though - looser now, but the gesture is kept unmistakably protective.

A stray hiccup slips out of Vash's mouth before he can properly answer, his free hand briefly covering his mouth in sudden self-awareness. Then there's a muffled laugh. The hand goes to rub knuckles against the sides of his face.

"Aw, hey. I manage it fine myself," he jokingly whines, deliberately owning up to being the 'brat' the other claims he is. Eyes glance over the damage, then avert at further inspection of it. Felt a bit like the scars across flesh he hid away similarly—so embarrassing, something to brush off.

"…W-well, mostly." Now he's just sheepish.

"Brad's had every right to chew me out for only ever visiting Home when I've banged it up past my expertise. Lost tech's a miracle of material, though, y'know? Designed to take on ballistic n'collision damage both, and even after all this time, the sensory aspect hasn't dulled a bit. Can interface with anything just fine, same way my other arm works." Cue princess wave with aforementioned other arm.

It's not his most subtle diversion of a tangent, but really, the guy was owed credit! Brad's magnum opus was truly something remarkable—Vash has long felt this way, about the gifts of both his arm and his coat. No matter where he was, he brought Home along with him, and he was happy to represent them. It brought him all the more shame - to have retained this bad habit for so long, letting it out on a priceless gift made just for him.

"With this, though, um. Maybe I've been too good at playing it off?" Meaning that if Brad's ever noticed that the scratches have had to have been self-inflicted, he's never pointed it out. Not over the course of 150 years so far, at least. If he has noticed and brought it up with Luida, Vash has been none the wiser.

"I'm getting better about it," Vash insists, pathetically, despite knowing it's not going to convince either of them.

★ --;; There is something to be said about the shared propensities to be kind to everyone else but themselves. What happens then, when you are part of that everyone else? Even if it's not you, not really; so many infinitesimal differences adding up so wholly into grand designs that are unto themselves entirely different existences. The steady biting back and forth, words that had already echoed in his head and some that continue to do so when it's quiet enough or dark enough or they're shoved forward just so; hearing them from a mouth not quite his own, just different enough, makes him want to dig in his heels, stubborn as a mule. This time, at least, there's some give in the rope harnessed around them both, so tightly it's usually pulled between the two of them, so set in their ways.

Vash lets his false appendage be moved freely, loose and limp from where it had had the same properties in his own lap. There's a vulnerability there, from the both of them; something lost and then gained, a testament to what they've seen. What they've done.

Come to think of it, they never have properly shared those stories.

Maybe one day, but not now; for now Vash's eyes drift just as his counterpart had wanted them to, the glove covering his own metal hand to the cerulean glass of the other. Honed for detail, they easily pick up on the admission of what had been done. Far from the first time with is counterpart-- hell, even in this conversation-- Vash's heart lurches, aches, with that same old want to take the pain away.

Instead, his free arm returns to the position is had been in, wrapping itself around the younger's shoulders and squeezing. "You don't gotta thank me," Vash says quietly, just enough to be heard over quivering breaths. "You've helped me out more than you know."

Artificial fingers flex, curl slowly in on themselves one by one until relaxing again. "Who takes care of your maintenance?" he finally asks, after a few more moments of silence. "They're gonna be a whole lot more pissed at you than I could ever be."

[blankticket]

No one had to die, he wants to repeat, to insist; instead, the copycat bites his lip to keep it down. He's struggling to grasp at some degree of self-awareness to know that the impulse is out of protectiveness for his own hurt. It isn't worth hurting his predecessor in turn for that.

…He's still as stubborn as the other guy, though. But as rebuttals come to mind and persist unspoken, the Plant realizes that these painful thoughts are unlikely to be anything new for Vash. It's likely that Vash has already had to deal with all of these feelings - over so many more years, alone. Hearing these words from an older self come as a comfort, though simultaneously, they add to his growing feelings of indignation. All the more it feels so unfair! He isn't letting the healer help refute the other's demons; Vash thinks he's going to get away with insisting he's only made things worse for his younger counterpart.

But the older Vash is right to point out the other side to this, mature enough to directly address the hatred that the both of them face. He's trying to protect this younger copy; it's made evident in that physical gesture, helping him shield his vulnerable eyes, since his own glasses are absent. It makes his heartache yield toward solace. It's not hard to tell that this is Vash's way of loving his younger self, of telling him things he'd needed to be told, himself. Breath catches in his chest the instant that Vash tells his double that he's a good person. The honest belief that he deserved this acceptance, comfort, and encouragement despite everything... It's nearly overwhelming.

"Hey. Vash…?"

He raises his bloodless hand up to his eyes—to help him see again—then reaches over to grab the other's prosthetic wrist. He slowly pulls it away from the other Vash's flesh hand, into his own lap; he's been quietly observant of that self-destructive compulsion, and he wants to acknowledge that pain now. This way, he can at least momentarily rescue Vash from the means to hurt himself.

His prosthetic's forearm is angled such that it catches just enough stray light, revealing scratch marks against the lost-tech glass, old and new: evidence of his own self-inflicted harm. In this moment, his eyes are pointedly focused on those scratches, knowing that his predecessor would recognize them just the same.

"Thank you for taking care of me."

A tear splashes onto his predecessor's outstretched arm, soon followed by more.

Vash sniffles, shoulders shuddering once, and despite his choked-up voice breaking again, he's determined to repeat:

"Thank you."

★ --;; "... What were you supposed to have learned?" Vash asks quietly. Again, he'd waited until the other was finished saying his piece. At least he'd stopped diggiing into his nail beds as he'd been listening-- far easier to do when he wasn't the one to have to speak. "What they did, that's not-- There wasn't any reason for it to be so cruel."

"There's nothing to be 'worthy' of when it comes to us, either. All we ever seem to do is give your lot more problems. Make you carry more than what you should have to." He's a broken record on that one though, it seems; no matter how many times he tries to hold his burden for himself, the younger Stampede keeps trying to take it away from him yet again-- despite how many times the roles being reversed had been refused.

Finally, eyes glance back up at his counterpart. "A lot of people hated me. Still hate me. And that's okay. I did a lot of awful things-- they deserve to feel that way. But whether or not they hate me or cared about me, you're right. I kept going." A pause, and then one hand comes up to blond hair to ruffle it. It's not as rough as it had been so many times before, but it does push the hair down over his successor's eyes. "People love you too, brat. Care about you a whole awful lot. So you've got to keep goin' too, ya' know?"

The same hand falls back down into his lap limply after a moment. "Even though you keep actin' like you don't deserve it." There's something to be said there about his own habits, he knows, but. Well. At least he's trying to be better about it these days. Never mind the success rate.

"And I don't know what you're gettin' at with 'better', either." Anger had been the root of it all for so long, an ugly thing curled tight in Vash's chest. There are still a great many things he envies his younger counterpart for. "You're a good person. You wouldn't care so much if you weren't."

[blankticket]

It's all the more—for the very Ward they reside in to go unmentioned—that the revenant's whispers come to the forefront of Vash's mind. (the only person whose life was ended by vash the stampede's own hand, of his own accord.)

"Legato told me that, too. "…Um. That I didn't choose what happened in JuLai, I mean. To blame the Stars for Archimedes. But, y'know… Those're the same Stars that let me meet you. All of you, like this. And they were—They were testin' me on bein' worthy of that, to have learned, n'not to let the worst happen again, and I failed. Simple as that."

His hands have moved to hold his own elbows, shoulders raising back up with a slow, deep breath. It's shaky, but it still restores that much more dignity in him. He hasn't quit looking at his predecessor, hasn't taken any offense in having him let go and look away from him. It wasn't as though the younger Plant had been any bit worthy of that offered comfort, or of these words now, in attempt to console his aching heart.

"Listen. I dunno if I'm gonna get any better if I… Ahah. If I keep lettin' others take the fall for me. I don't wanna be granted an excuse." A shake of the head.

Please let me have this, in other words. He'd be perfectly fine in bearing all that grief and guilt and blame; he'd gladly keep himself accountable for those sins. He deserved that weight. After all…

"It's alright. You kept going, didn't you? People still loved you,"

A moment of hesitation. But then he reaches out to Vash, gently carding fingers up through his dark hair, just above his ear where the frame of his glasses sit.

"And you still loved people."

★ --;; For as practied as Vash is at dealing with hurts both physical and not, it still lances through him the same way each time. Had this been what he'd sounded like? Every time it feels like a smack to the face; forced to hear himself on repeat. Forced to listen to a voice that both is and is not his physically say the words, instead of having the barrier of reverb in his own bones.

"That's not--." He cuts himself off, sighing through his nose. Tries to find the right words, the right order- even if he's not entirely sure there ever will be. There's a long pause between the younger Stampede's final words and when Vash finally manages to piece a full sentence together, but his gentle hold doesn't falter.

"If you mean with Naï, then. Than you had no reason to not trust him on the ship," he says quietly. "After. After Telsa, after Rem talked to both of us, I thought everything was okay. Didn't want to think about if it might not be. I trusted Knives, too."

Another pause, this one shorter. His voice stays subdued, even. "If you mean about Julai, then you were used. Same as me." Slowly his hands slip away. It doesn't feel right, to say what he's steeled himself to and to still be holding the other. "And you're so torn up about it, but. But I pointed my arm at him on purpose," he admits. Can't look his counterpart in the eye as he does so. The 'staunch pacifist,' proven a liar nearly from the start. "I wanted him dead, back then. At least, I thought I did. It's all I could think about."

Fingers join together where his hands have fallen into his lap. It's an attempt at keeping himself from picking at his flesh and bone ones, the cuticles long ravaged; but an attempt is all it is, and it's failed, too.

"And if you're talking about Archimedes, then. That was the Stars, wasn't it?" HIs voice is even smaller now, somehow. One more elephant sits in the garden with them, one with a gored skull and missing eye that sill makes Vash feel sick to think about. That he's not sure if he can ever bring up properly without being so.

" ... You know how they like to watch while we struggle."

[punisheye]

The lights are so bright in the night that Wolfwood blinks in the face of them, his brows furrowing as his eyes squint up. He blinks a few times as his eyes adjust. There's a flood of relief when he realizes they're at the end now, his pace picking up a bit as he continues to tug Vash along with him.

"Looks like it," he replies, and then the towering walls of the labyrinth are giving way to an wide open space dotted with flower bushes and small trees. Sitting there in the clearing is something small and shimmering in the moonlight. Wolfwood releases Vash's hand so he can stride over and squat down in front of it.

He's no good with identifying flowers. Vash probably could. It's pure crystal, reflecting the light around it; it's cool to the touch, but warms up quickly under his fingers when he picks it up with surprising gentleness.

Wolfwood stares, remembering what Vash said about it. A promise to stay at each other's sides through thick and thin. A totally-not-a-proposal. His ears heat up. He swallows, pushing himself back up to his full height, turning, and bringing it back to Vash.

The flower is placed in the other's hands, held gently between them.

"It's pretty," he says, but he's staring directly at Vash when he says it rather than the flower. He leans in, bumping their noses together, letting out a soft breath. "Guess bein' stuck in a stupid maze with you ain't so bad in the end."

★ --;; Wolfwood's not wrong; they had turned right to get here. If he thinks hard enough on it Vash can recall the turn they'd taken, even though his brain had actively been swimming behind his eyes at their aborted conversation, at the comments that had left his cheeks and ears burning. Still, Vash huffs, eyebrows furrowed.

"Then maybe we gotta take the next right after that one? Or maybe it was totally different. Stickin' to the right wall? Or-- mmph!"

Any further prattling is swiftly cut off by lips against his own-- they've become a far better 'shut up' button than any of the tactics Wolfwood had ever used before the two of them had stumbled into one another in the way they were always meant to have. Nine times out of ten, unless Vash was really on a tangent, they served as perfect weapons to turn any and all thoughts into mush if applied with just the right amount of pressure.

Fingers curl into lapels of their own accord with practiced ease, Vash sighing through his nose-- and isn't that something? It makes the whole of him light up with the thought of it. Of the fact that touches like these are easy, now. Just like the tilt of his head is easy as kisses are pressed there too, the crook of a smile at words rumbled into his ear-

Only to have one of those same projectiles smack him directly in the center of his forehead with a startled " Ack - ! ", making his whole body flinch. The pinecone Wolfwood ducks away from also gets him square in the head before landing against the soft grass at their feet.

Vash doesn't even have it in him to pout about the whole thing though, a snort of a laugh working its way up and out through his nose as he trots along behind Wolfwood. "Told you the powers that be weren't gonna be too fond a' whatever apology you were brewin'," he giggles.

"They probably had enough a' that real quick with how many couples have been in and out a' here."

He also definitely does notice Wolfwood continuing to take rights, mentally putting another tally on the 'Vash Was Right' chalkboard. A sly grin curls on his features as he hums, "You'll just have to show later instead of tell now."

Another right, though, and a plethora of fairy lights in every colour seem to have gathered at the end of the passage, the fuzzy edges of each bleeding into one another. "Oh," he breathes, blinking at the sight. "Reckon that's it?"

[punisheye]

Okay, maybe being lost in a maze right now isn't so bad despite his prior bitching. Because when he's not bitching, the silence is comfortable and peaceful, he can focus on Vash's warm hand in his, listen to his breathing over their shared footsteps. Corny as it sounds, being next to Vash is his favorite place to be.

Even if he drives him fucking insane sometimes. In a lot of ways.

He's still kind of stuck on his own words, mentally beating himself over the head for them, but it isn't like Vash reacted negatively, at least. People already tell them they act like an old married couple, bickering and all. Wolfwood asks them who the hell they're calling "old". He and Vash laugh about it but don't think too hard about it.

Ugh, no, he can't keep thinking about it while they're trying to find their way out of a maze. It's just distracting.

Not as distracting as how much he wants to kiss Vash stupid when they come to a stop and he just runs his mouth. He feels like a lovesick Romeo, which has been a constant since he ended up in this place and ran into Vash again.

"We took a right to get here," Wolfwood grunts, because he paid attention to that much. "So we gotta go back 'n' take the left."

He turns back towards Vash entirely, staring at him, pixie lights reflecting in his dark eyes. Wolfwood blinks a few times, pulls Vash back in, and kisses him again. He releases Vash's hand to rest both of his on his waist, keeping his hold there firm, his tongue swiping out over Vash's bottom lip and prodding his mouth open.

...Yeah. Distracting. He breaks away only to mouth over Vash's sharp jawline, murmuring when he gets to his ear, "When we get outta here, I'm gonna—"

Except that thought is interrupted by something small hitting him in the head. Then another. Wolfwood grunts in alarm, looking up to see an acorn hit him square between the eyes, and he narrowly dodges a pinecone hurled at him.

"Agh!! Quit it!" He shouts at the pixies in the trees, then grabs Vash's hand again to pull him away from the onslaught. The pixies titter from where they watch, throw one more pinecone at him for good measure that he's able to dodge again, and then hide away. Wolfwood goes down the left path like suggested, and then takes a few right turns while grumbling. "Little shits..."

★ --;; If it were possible to choke on absolutely nothing Vash very nearly manages it, feeling the tips of his ears go red in tandem. Lets Wolfwood continue to drag him along while figurative smoke pours out of said ears, eyes averted. Because Vash isn't stupid; the outside of the maze was littered with couples, and it wasn't as though the pixies gifted those flowers to each other without reason. It's just that putting it to words makes his cheeks hot. He's still learning how to take the things he wants, but putting a name to them is an entirely different ball park.

The olive branch of topic diversion is grasped readily, because the great many beats his heart just skipped in Vash's chest really need to be recompensed, somehow. The thought is. Nice. Really nice, if he's being honest with himself. And it's not like he hadn't thought about it before-- hell, he'd gone and let his mouth run about it in front of Wolfwood before, anyway. It's still just. A lot to think about. Being allowed something like that.

Mind racing, it's funny that the same person to set it that way helps to bring it back down to Earth. The thumb against his knuckles snaps him out of his thoughts, even with the highs of his cheeks still pink, and Vash squeezes their fingers together.

"Yeah," he smiles softly, trying to think about just where it would sit-- what it even looks like, really. How it would sit amongst its greener cousins. A physical reminder of it all, even though neither of them particularly need one. Unspoken and then spoken promise made manifest. "I think it will too."

Except now they're at another dead end. If they hadn't just had a moment, it very well may have irked him. Instead, Vash just lets out a half-exasperated sigh. "If we ever make it outta here." It's more romantic than it had been, after all, but jeez. "I think they really are messin' with us, at this rate. We gotta find a pattern, or somethin'. Maybe just keep goin' right? That's gotta spit us outta here eventually. Read it in a book once."

[punisheye]

It's not his fault that Vash's nose is so... biteable. It's not like he bites hard! ...Sometimes. The temptation is too great to resist most of the time, especially when Vash's face is right there, so he lets his impulsive thoughts win and it earns him a shriek and fingers wiggling into his ribs.

"Ack—!" Wolfwood turns into a mess of snorts and loud, startled laughing, and he immediately tries to squirm away from him but also he's still holding his hand. He doesn't want to stop holding his hand because what if they get separated, and also he likes holding his hand. "Stop! Fuckin' cut it out!!!"

He smacks Vash's hand away from his ribs, wheezing. Wolfwood has to take a moment to catch his breath, while his grip on Vash's hand tightens enough that it could be crushing. A look is thrown over his shoulder at the other, meant to be intimidating but looking more like a petulant pout.

Wolfwood stomps back to close the space between them. His other hand lands on Vash's waist to draw him in while he grumbles.

"Sorry." He's not sorry. "I'll make it up to ya, I promise."

Well, they're lost in a maze, and no one else is around, so. No harm in getting up close and personal. Wolfwood kisses his nose instead of biting it this time, plants a kiss on Vash's jaw, blows on his ear.

"...Well, maybe not in here..." He mumbles with an annoyed huff.

★ --;; Over a century and a half of honing his perception very much does key Vash in to even the most miniscule of squirms beneath his fingers, thank you very much, even if they are his prosthetic ones. Whatever pout he has on his face is very quickly about to be replaced with a mischievous, shit-eating curious grin before Wolfwood just as quickly kills it with the daggers he glares into Vash. Noted. It at least gets Vash to stop prodding for the time being.

"Probably, yeah," he hums, letting his head tilt and fall against the one on his shoulder and absolutely doing a fantastic job at ignoring the warmth against his neck. He likes to think he's improving against Wolfwood's mean tactics, sometimes. "I saw someone get turned into a fox earlier 'cause they failed the game or somethin'. I feel like cheating would make the punishment even worse."

Their foreheads knocking together earns Wolfwood a quiet ack!, Vash's eyebrows furrowing at the impact, regardless of how many times they've gone through this same sort of ritual. As if thunking their heads together would somehow make their brain power combine in some sort of miracle. Unsurprisingly, it has yet to work.

Still, Vash is set to listen to whatever else Wolfwood's about to suggest--

before promptly shrieking at his nose getting bitten.

"YOU'RE SO MEAN TO ME!" he wails. Never mind that this, too, is commonplace. "I'm tryin' to figure out how to actually get outta' here and you're bein mean ta' me!"

Cue Wolfwood getting more fingers jabbed into his side.

[blankticket]

…Why is Vash trying to comfort him? The sheer shock and confusion of his past words being recited aids in pushing down the rising hysteria. The smaller pacifist lets himself be held, gives the other the chance to offer consolation, trembling and suppressing his sobs in the meanwhile. He listens. He breathes. His eyes open again.

But it felt so awful to let Vash help him. Didn't he get it?

"Intent doesn't matter." The eventual insistence is a quiet echo, returned. "What I did choose… Led to all of this."

He sounds more composed, at least. Somber and sobered, the copycat continues to wilt, retreating into himself as he continues. Fists are still curled, even if they're not as tightly held, now. It's clear that even from his body language alone, he hates occupying the space that he does.

"I could've chosen to stop. No one had to die."

His predecessor had done all he could to warn him, to try and protect him from making the mistakes he'd made long ago. But this new iteration of himself proved to be an overachiever, didn't he?

"Sorry," he says, and for once, the word isn't wailed half-coherent at dead of night—but with a fragile, forced smile up at the other. "I'm sorry. I'm the worst we're ever gonna get."

★ --;; It's yet another mirror being held up to Vash's face. A reminder that no matter what he had tried to do, however he had tried to shield the younger Stampede, that these sorts of things were inevitable. That all the hurt and anger and confusion he'd wrought trying to do-- what, exactly? Spare him this? Had been steeped in so much selfishness. Trying to deal a hand in a fate he had no say in.

The hand that had already been on the other's shoulder squeezes again, side against side, free hand wrapping itself around one tightly closed fist. "Breathe," he says, gentle but firm, cutting off whatever further sentences might spiral forth from such a line of thinking. Knows exactly what it's like, to be lost in the all-consuming white noise buzzing beneath the skin, in the imprints of everything that had happened emblazoned behind his eyelids.

Trying to slice through it feels like taking a butter knife to a brick wall, knowing just how tangled that knot of thoughts can be, but he can't just sit here and watch it happen as they try to encapsulate the younger Stampede completely with their vines and thorns. His hands and voice stay steady, even with the deluge of information.

"Do you remember what you said to me?" Vash asks-- anything to pull the other's mind away from that gaping abyss, even though the relativity is unavoidable. "In the Mists. He used you. You didn't want any of that to happen."

It's a conversation that sits in his own mind often, regardless of the shame it toys with. The painful healing it had wrought in its wake, like disinfectant in a wound. But in as many ways as they are different they are also so very much alike, and even without that pre-existence it's an easy read; the younger Stampede would never have wished any of these things on anyone.

He also knows how difficult of a thing it is to accept. A hypocrite, he's been called so many times; feels it now, in his bones, as the words keep coming anyway. Wonders if they'll ever stick to either of them. But it's easier this way-- removed from himself. A third party.

"You said it yourself. He did that to you. Forced you into doing it. And whatever happened on the fleet you-- he chose what he did. You didn't make that choice for him." It's spoken with unearned clarity, when his own guilt still sits in a writhing coil, always constantly waiting to quietly expand.

"Just like you didn't make the choice for whatever was happening in Archimedes. You didn't choose that."

[punisheye]

A little grin crawls across his face when Vash plants a kiss on his cheek. He's about to speak again when Vash turns around to retrace their steps, tugging him along, so he decides to stay quiet for now. Wolfwood squeezes Vash's hand as they go, watching the back of his head more than he's actually paying attention to the path. He picks up his pace so he can fall in step beside Vash again, and this way he can actually look at his face.

Soft, colorful pixie lights pass by them, illuminating Vash's face in pink and gold. It shines off the black of his hair, makes his eyes sparkle; he's so pretty it's almost absurd. Wolfwood's openly staring now, sure, and his irritation is quickly melting away. Not that it's gone entirely, but it's mostly being replaced by simple admiration.

So he can't help but come to a sudden stop, tugging Vash back towards him again, using his other hand to cradle the back of his neck as he leans in to plant a lingering kiss on his lips. Wolfwood exhales softly through his nose, lashes fluttering, then he pulls back and bumps their noses together.

"Had to get it outta my system," he explains. The hand on Vash's neck falls away and Wolfwood turns back towards the path. They're getting close to the end, he can feel it. Maybe only a few more turns and they'll be there.

The walk resumes and their shoulders keep knocking together. Their fingers thread together tighter.

"What do we even get if we get to the end of this thing?"

★ --;; Oh, this is incredibly useful information to have tucked away in his arsenal. Vash definitely does not find immense glee in the fact that he has somehow, someway, found a shiny new button of Wolfwood's to push, even after he'd thought he'd found them all a long time ago. These most recent months had been the gift that keeps on giving when it comes to those, apparently.

The brief dramatics of getting his nose gnawed on are very quickly replaced with the grin of his that had been so immediately killed earlier, even when his hand is finally swatted away. It screams of the cat who got the cream, completely smug with itself. It's still there to meet Wolfwood's petulant face after he catches his breath too, free hand wriggling its fingers next to Vash's cheek and clasped hand swinging innocently back and forth.

"An apology?" Vash gasps as he's pulled in, eyes going wide for effect but failing dramatically at hiding the smile in his words. It's not helped by the quiet laugh drawn out of him at the attention. "The world's ending. Hell's frozen over."

"But, yeah, no, I don't think the powers that be would like that very much. I don't even wanna think about what they might turn us into for that," he laughs, punctuating himself with a quick, wet smeck against Wolfwood's cheek before turning them back around and heading back the way they'd come yet again. At least this time he isn't halfway yanking the other's arm out of socket.

There's much less stomping involved this time too, retracing their steps until they reach the same intersection Wolfwood had taken the lead at before. This time Vash turns them so they're heading intp one of the paths that should be pointing in the opposite direction of they way they'd come in, in the hopes that it won't lead them to another wall of endless ivy.

[blankticket]

Vash's assurance is spoken gently; in his daze, the younger Plant briefly wonders if that voice is a grounding thought that's slipped outside of his head. When the words finally register in his busied mind, he blinks rapidly in effort to clear his sight, breath escaping in a long shaky exhale.

"Need you to know," he insists at matched volume. Even so, the copycat clearly isn't enthused about deciding to continue, given the way his fingers try to wriggle underneath their hold again.

He's not so unaware of himself that he can't sense how he's working on frayed nerves, likely to crumble if he continued recounting the muddled memories of his brother interfering with his heart. So, instead of talk inward…

"Outside, I could feel it. My body, being…" Changed? Corrected? "There were roots. Couldn't move, couldn't stop myself. Down through JuLai, must've overgrown—and connected to the Plants, too; think we were… Singing…?"

There's doubt in the word; it didn't sound quite right, but it wasn't wrong, either.

Then sheer fright strikes like a spike into his heart. Every hair raised, it looks like the little mass-murderer's primed to jump out of his skin.

"Oh, no. No. No, I—I did something horrible to them." At the word, the copy curls further into himself, heightening disgust evident. The Plant traitor slips his sweaty hand away from Vash's fingers, searching his palm for something that isn't there anymore. He deserves to be abandoned. Vash needs to know.

"Vash, I helped," he blurts, hands and eyes shut tight in fear. He's suddenly starting to sound the way he does, those nights where Vash has to come into the guest room and keep him company, to try to settle down his wailing howls of pain.

"I…! Gave him the code and I killed Rem and he—the Fall, he said it was all for me—and…! I made him die, Vash, I s-saw, I saw, and the blast, I. Burned him and buh—burned everything away, a-and he's dead and you and, and everyone, dying 'cause of—!"

★ --;; "Since when are our lives ever not a lot?" Vash sneaks in-- an attempt at some form of encouragement before the younger begins his retelling in earnest, along with another small squeeze. Hearing it second-hand is nothing in comparison to living through whatever may have happened, no matter the discrepancies between what the two of them had been through. It's the least he can do to help try and alleviate the burden.

And immediately, he's met with more differences right of the bat. Meryl being kidnapped and thrust into the Dragon's Nest substituted for a city who's existence is still difficult for him to fathom, sometimes-- though, at least she hadn't been on her own, this time. The care Roberto had buried in the way he'd spoken about the lot of them had been a relief upon meeting- even more so, now, to know that he'd been there to help keep Meryl safe. That they'd both been there for one another when they'd needed it.

Vash doesn't say any anything though, keeping his mouth shut-- for now, anyway. Lets the younger Stampede pause and then continue at his own pace, without any pressure. His hand does stay firmly in place, though, unwavering and unwilling to move. Even as flesh fingers pick and prod at metallic ones, all they do is gently rise up to still anxious movement, softly sandwiching them between shoulder and palm.

Because that's familiar too. Yanking and plucking at plumage until blood began to bead, frightened and anxious and above all angry at himself. At what he was.

The younger Stampede might not be aware of his breathing, but Vash is, keen senses picking up the shift as it steadily increases. He leans forward, then, just a bit-- just enough to rest some of his weight against his successor's side in some attempt at grounding. In the hope that it's any good at all, with how many times the other has pulled Vash back down in turn.

"You're not there," he says quietly. He still doesn't look him in the face- knows how difficult it is, to share things like this, and doesn't want to add to it. "And he's not here, either." Legs resume their gentle rocking, slowly back and forth.

" ... Do you want to keep going? If it's too much, you don't have to. Or I can talk instead, if you need."

[punisheye]

It's kind of pointless to tell Wolfwood not to laugh because he does anyway, but it's not mean. Of course Vash got him out here for some weird flower, and he's about to make a jab about it, but Vash continues before he can. His voice is soft, he seems a little shy, but Wolfwood's heart jumps in his chest and for the umpteenth time he wonders when he's suddenly started feeling like a lovesick little boy.

Another turn, a dead end. Wolfwood backtracks and goes back to the last intersection and takes a different path.

"That sounds like some kinda proposal," he says without thinking. When his brain catches up with him, though, his face immediately burns. Definitely not what he meant to say. It's kind early for that, right? Not that he hasn't ever vaguely thought about it, but still. He coughs a little bit. "I mean— uh, yeah, we have."

Even when Wolfwood betrayed him he still went back for him. When Wolfwood left, Vash followed him. And before all of that they were always there, side to side, back to back; Wolfwood had never known another person who he worked with so well, he slotted into his life instantly like he always belonged there. It had been almost terrifying then. It's not so much anymore.

A flower to symbolize it seems kind of corny, but...

"Well, it'll show we made it outta here," he continues. His face is still warm, heart fluttering. Wolfwood's thumb rubs over the top of Vash's hand. "Bet it'll look nice in the house."

★ --;; "You're staring," Vash grins. Years of being eyes by all sort of folks had given him a six sense for that sort of thing, and he can feel Wolfwood's eyes on him before he can even catch a glimpse of it as they fall into step. It's a warm feeling though, one that pulls a quiet laugh out of him, so impossibly far away from why Vash had had to hone the skill in the first place. There's definitely the want to return the favor, too, but they have to get out of here some time.

So Wolfwood's not granted more than a muted trill as he pulls Vash back in, smile big enough to almost ruin the whole thing as their lips press together. When they finally pull apart though it spreads so easily; the kind that crinkles around the corners of his eyes and scrunches his nose just that bit when they meet, a soft laugh at the explanation and when they pull apart, letting Wolfwood take the lead again.

"Don't laugh," Vash starts, though he's once again a bit of a hypocrite even here, unable to get rid of the remains of the smile stuck to his face. When they're not bickering it feels like it's impossible to get rid of most of the time, these days. Hell, sometimes even when they were bickering. "It's- uh- a flower. Crystal, though. One that pixies usually give to each other." It's not the entire reason he'd wanted to come here with Wolfwood-- it had really and truly been out of a want to return to some sort of normalcy.

Still, a little quieter and with the pink tinting his cheeks just barely blurred by fuzzy lights, he adds, "It's kinda redundant, honestly. Apparently it's supposed to mean you'll stick together no matter what, but- ha- we've kinda already done that, haven't we?" Followed each other to hell and back, they had. Can't think of a single other person he would have wanted to do it with.

[blankticket]

"It's a lot," he says with a nervous chuckle. It dies down quick. "So just… Stop me? When it gets t'be too much."

Vash's eyes narrow until they shut entirely, which feels like a move made out of cowardice. It still doesn't make this hurt any less.

"We made it to JuLai," he starts slow, unconsciously believing the other Vash needs no clarification on 'we', "Tryin' t'save the reporters from bein' abducted by Zazie the Beast. They get out alright, and then. Then we, um, we split ways. And then it's just me, and my brother."

One hand lifts up from his knee. It crosses his chest to reach his shoulder, fingers abstractedly pulling at foliage that isn't there. There's something in the way—(his predecessor's fingers)—but in his absentmindedness it doesn't quite register, fingers trying to pull anyway. It adds to his pained expression, either way: it's become a sore spot over the week of recovery, due to this new habit.

"I-I can't get Naï to listen. Tells me he'll rruh—remake me, into the 'perfect Independent'. Springs a trap from under me; I fall." There's a brief pause; in reliving the memory, the younger Stampede has begun to hold his breath. Eyes open when he's ready, and he breathes out.

"Plants floating around us, in all that water. He strikes with his knives, they wrap around behind me, n'he connects them into my back. "…We wake up in—in my heart, I think."

His hands slack. Then they still. Vash trails off there, brow furrowed tight as he loses himself in the recall. For the most part, the effort's no good. His memories of Naï's irruption aren't so clear, even though it hasn't been long.

As though his body's remembering for him, Vash can feel his heart quicken, and the sensation of being too aware of his own pulse makes him nauseous. In contrast, he's become unaware of how he's begun to lightly pant for air.

★ --;; Vash is the first to look directly at the other, though his gaze is only met by the back quarter of the younger Stampede's head where he's still hunched further forward. The fuzz that sits there is a bit longer than usual, he registers distantly, but also knows he has so little experience with that sort of thing that he'd probably actually leave the other bald, so he chooses not to say anything.

Again and again, the younger Stampede has had to see Vash's burdens. Has had to know them, had to let them sit in his chest. The destruction. The deaths he'd wrought. For as many times as he's done so, Vash has had the steady realization that he knows so much less about everything his counterpart has gone through; that the weight of knowledge had not been distributed equally between them.

If it helped to take even an ounce away, he'd listen.

"It's okay," he says quietly, a light squeeze given to the shoulder he still has his hand on. "If you wanna tell it to me, it's gotta be important to you, right? It deserves to be listened to." The slow sway of his legs ceases, the swing coming to an easy stop. Eyes stray back out to the garden.

" ... Even if they hurt, memories are important. I'm glad you want to share them with me."