#misplacedreporter

[avataroftheswarm]

Oh look! Its one of their favorite people to bother, the little reporter girl who's afraid of Worms!

"Well well look who it is!"

@misplacedreporter

[goldendivinewrath]

@misplacedreporter [From here, because give him an inch and he'll move right in with an old couch and a mini-fridge...]

They're like you. It's unintentional, the way his head moves so quickly, eyes snapping to her. Us.

As unintentional and quick as the change in Vash's expression, a commet's streak, there and gone; swift but bright enough only to contemplate the after image: fear. The kind of wide-eyed terror of an animal in the process of giving in to the instinct to bolt--

But he does no such thing. He takes a slow breath and soothes the tension in bunched muscles back into neutrality, draws a smile on his face. Smaller than usual. Softer. Less of an act, but it's still...

There shouldn't be an us. There shouldn't be an us. There will only be him in the end. Again. And it will be his fault, like it always is. And there's something dangerously wrong with him now, because every attempt he's made to leave, to remove the danger of himself, has been half-hearted. Do you want to get them killed? Well, do you?

He shivers, but the night isn't that cold yet. He has his coat on, and temperature extremes don't usually get to him and--

He draws his coat closed, hides the bottom half of his face in its drawn-up collar. "I know." He does. He can't express how much he does. "Thanks, Meryl."

He should be. Alone.

But he doesn't... want to be, and he likes the humans who remain with him even knowing what they do about him (not everything, no, but enough), and he thinks that maybe--

Selfish--

Maybe. Possibilities and tomorrows. As much terror as comfort.

[humanitysong]

@misplacedreporter replied : "I asked if you wanted to go to that new diner for dinner tonight. What's up with you? You've been spacey all day."

his first instinct is to say no, because the humanoid typhoon cannot just walk into a new diner. but then he remembers that he can. people don't recognize him with the black hair and even when, his name has been mostly cleared.

"sounds good" he confirms with a soft smile, taking another step back again to keep some distance between them "have I...? sorry. one of the plants..." he looks back outside of the window, albeit just for a moment before focusing back on meryl. "nevermind that. you're hungry, right?"

[ninevoltcolt]

@misplacedreporter

"Uh, with all due respect Miss, the fuck is a Bernardelli reporter doin' all the way out here?! I thought y'all were those cushy city types."

[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. 

[nicholas-wolfwood]

@misplacedreporter

...He's listening.

[fatedstrands]

The plant hybrid perks from the water vibrating furiously. He didn't care that the idiot Plant approved, this was a terrible idea! He's going to just growl to show his disapproval.

@misplacedreporter

[nahashim]

❛ you got any other things planned? i think i saw a dark room back there you could lock me up in. ❜

"You're not a threat," he says, not glancing back at her. Not to him or to anything in her surroundings that was within her reach. Imprisoning her would be a waste of time. Ignoring her presence and willing her into silence would be the preferred outcome of events.

[stxrblccd]

@misplacedreporter | close but not quite

Luca cocks his head even further to the side as she exclaims, calling him Knives of all things. Hands raise slowly at her startled behavior, trying to minimize whatever threat he has apparently offered up. There's a genuine concern bubbling up in his expression.

"No..?" He states it almost as if it were obvious. Especially now that he does have some differing features. The mole is in the wrong spot, shorter hair, the slightest glint of green gracing his eyes in the right light. Not to mention over a century younger.

His head dips a bit bashfully. "I know it's been a while since you've visited but... do I really look that much like papa...?" He had been much younger when she was here before, appearing as though he were around seven; now he looks closer to a human thirteen year old. "I've grown quite a bit since you've been gone!"

[melpcmene-arch]

continued / @misplacedreporter

"Mhm," she hums absently, not looking up from the papers and notebooks spread around her as she scribbled notes. "I do have a job. Don't touch anything, I have an system–" Not that one could tell in the chaos of the desk. "...Did you need something?" she asks after a moment, lifting her head to blink at him.

He was in the middle of reaching out, fingers itching to touch what he shouldn't touch. Tongue poking out, right between the lips as Vash concentrated a little. Then the warning came: Don't touch anything, and Vash instinctively yanked his hand back and whistled; an act of pretend, to be perceived as innocent.

"Pfah, nooo. I just got curious, that's all. So what'cha writing about? Is it about little ol' me?" He's overdramatically fluttering his eyelashes when saying that. "And my incredible wit and talent?"

[rake-rake]

@misplacedreporter replied to your post “"I don't need to know to cook, I'm already a whole...”:

"I hope you don't expect me to do anything about it."

Quick quick. You're 150 years old, you can do this!

"Uhm, Meryl, your eyes are so beautiful... like..." keep going...! "Two... orbs...?"

[goldendivinewrath]

@misplacedreporter liked for a thing!

The slow accumulation of books that he most certainly does not own on his bedroom shelves does not go unnoticed. Especially not when the speed of books being added increases, and he keeps taking quietly amused moments to look over the titles, flip through a few and make note of what he might like to read later.

It's with the same warmth and blooming affection that he simply places a second pillow on the bed; open invitation, acceptance. Vash doesn't know exactly what he expects, tries not to do too much expecting at all--

Not very much changing, in hindsight, isn't much of a surprise. No grand shifts in routine, no major changes in the ease with which they've been living under the same roof without requiring conversation about it. He's already made a mental note to look for more bookshelves, and a warmer bed on a desert night is welcome. There are so few people that he's ever felt comfortable enough with to drop his guard completely, to actually sleep, to be sleeping and not simply exhausted, but somehow she's managed it from the first time he actually fell asleep in the truck. Nevermind all the times camping out on the sand.

That sleepiness is dangerous, though. Inhibitions become uncertain, his usual carefully-constructed boundaries relax, and instead of just shifting closer with a pleased little trill, his eyes are still closed when he gives Meryl's shoulder the gentlest of nibbles before settling in completely.

[humanitysong]

"I am not going anywhere" he promises and gently pulls her closer to press a kiss to her head. "...you want to talk about it?" he knows with all that happened meryl had plenty of reasons to have nightmares.

@misplacedreporter .

[eventheodds]

@misplacedreporter — it's animal crossing

"He was—"

What she's about to say doesn't feel like it's the strangest thing—she's talking to herself, or a version of herself, or maybe it's the other way around—she doesn't know anymore, but anyways.

"—you know that shirt Roberto joked about wearing, the one with the big red flowers and the leaves were this turquoise blue, or some kind of blue-green? It was an eyesore, but he threatened to wear it—anyways, he was wearing that."

From everything she's experienced thus far, and it is quite a lot, Meryl is fixated on a particular shirt Knives was wearing when they were...well, there's really no way she can describe it without sounding a little crazy.

"It was an island, and there were talking animals...I think. One of them was a purple cat named Bob. And these two birds that worked at the docks that flew small planes?"

She's leaning heavily into the table, her tankard of beer practically pushed to the middle; it's not even empty, hardly touched.

"And he was just standing there, on the beach—there was a beach! With sand and water!—like some guy marvelling at a freshly mowed lawn."

Her lips are pressed firmly together, like she's holding in a scream, because those words did not just come out of her mouth.

Except they did. And she needs other Meryl to believe her.

[etherdwellers]

@misplacedreporter

Contrary to comments made by some rude people, Washu's New and Improved Spatial-Temporal Energy Radar and Locator with Optional Charms (NISTERLOC for short) is no mere gussied-up metal detector. It may bear a vague resemblance, and beep like one when it senses disturbances in the time-space continuum... but that's where the similarities end.

Washu wishes she'd picked a different noise, now that it's been going off for almost forty-eight hours. At least the beeps are so close that she thinks she's very nearly found the cause. Whatever evoked such a strong response can only be a powerful being indeed: a deity-alien from the depths of a black hole, perhaps.

She figures there's no shame in asking for help. Over her shoulder she slings the NISTERLOC, and flashes the only living soul in the vicinity a pleasant smile. "Excuse me, ma'am. Has some kind of preternatural monster passed through here this morning, perhaps yea high?" She elevates her arm as far as it will go above her head.

[nicholas-wolfwood]

"Oh, yeah, went from a T-bone to a sideswipe. You ain't makin' your case better here, how the hell do you hit the ONE person in the middle of nowhere??"

@misplacedreporter