#dw. i pledge that if theres ever something i dont understand from your writing ill msg you first!

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Vash doesn't do much besides pull a ton of pitiful faces as he's being chastised. O how hard it was, being such a helpless troublemaker. The Humanoid Typhoon's always making other people responsible for damage control. Yep. He's got jack shit to say for himself. But in that following silence, his mind's still sharp—catches the other's evasive uneasiness, recognizes the inescapable presence of it like an old foe.

"'Kay," he chirps casually. No further questions, your honor. Vash pulls his arm across his chest to stretch it, and yawns, squeezing elbow with lost-tech fingers. And so, the act of obliviousness continues.

What the other's said about the posters… If this Vash were trying to hide away from the bounty, then it wouldn't make sense for him to merely change up only his hair, if his overall look was kept preserved. As much of a showboat as Vash could be, he doubted the other was prideful and foolish enough not to try better than that, given 'years'. No, there was something to this detail, that was for certain. But he was fine with not knowing, if his predecessor was keen on not telling.

If there's a door that he shouldn't be opening, then he'll quit knocking. What was the other Vash going to do about it, anyway? Scold him for being a runaway? Would he suddenly change his mind, and spill what he's clearly trying to protect himself from?

The Stampede rises, pulls his SEEDS coat a little tighter around his shoulders, dusts it off. He wipes his mouth clear of sugar, using the spot where his wrist connects to the base of his palm. Some things are better left alone—and better left off alone. He gets it.

"I'm not coming back. They hassle you, try n'chalk it up to all that being some random lunatic." He chuckles at his own descriptor. "Donut was nice; thanks. Sorry I can't do much else. And—I'm glad that you can have a peaceful life here, Vash.

"You deserve it."

He waves, turns, and starts to walk away.

★ --;; Despite all of Vash's prowess with dodging projectiles, the annoyed look of the other is mirrored back at him as the sprinkle lands right between his eyes, bounces off and lands on the bench between them. "Rude," he pouts. "I know for a fact that you were taught better manners than that." As if he wouldn't have done the exact same thing.

"An' that's exactly what I meant. You owed me for freakin' everyone out in the bakery, too." Information is the least he could give for the potential fallout he'd have to deal with. That place was one of his favourites.

That, and he thinks he finally understands what its like- at least a bit. To be on the other end of that melancholic trance he knows he finds himself in all too often, even now. If he doesn't have anyone there to tell him hey, come back to the present, at least he can be that for this off-kilter version of himself.

Talk about some fucked up form of therapy.

Slowly he relaxes again from where he's found himself leaned over, stares up at the grey sky. It's still spitting a few snowflakes here and there-- soon it'll likely pick back up in earnest. At least it's consistent. "I don't have much of an explanation for myself," he says. "It uh- mostly matches up, same as what you said."

He feels, somehow, that saying much more than that is playing a dangerous game.