#thread 01 || plantfell

[deadmandraw]

@plantfell || Thread 01.

He must've blacked out. Again. These episodes were becoming more frequent. He should be worried. He knows who the man in the mirror is now, after all. But the man — the Fourteenth — is silent once more.

...His arm hurts.

He blinks, slowly, sucking in a breath as awareness to his new environment rushes in all at once. This was not headquarters. What the hell? Where was he? He doesn't recognize the alley he's woken up in. Then again, he's never been the greatest at identifying where he was at a given moment. The materials... seemed to be a little too sophisticated compared to what he's used to. Like the world in his dreams. Like the Arc. He supposes his unwelcomed roommate must've managed the strength to walk him this far. There's a strange device in his coat pocket. He ignores it, for now. He has other priorities.

He can't stay here.

However, his body seems to be committing mutiny against him. His arm — his Innocence was acting up. Why? He grits his teeth, and actively forces himself not to look at the writhing mass of... he's not sure what Crowned Clown is doing. It scares him. He doesn't want to acknowledge it. But he can't help but catch glimpses of whatever it's doing from the corner of his eye; feathery tendrils reaching skywards, likely clearly visible from outside the alleyway. Like a signal. But who — what — was it trying to call? He grips his shoulder, as if that'll force it back into a more solidified shape, alleviate the discomfort somehow. It doesn't.

Maybe he should call out for help... Except he doesn't even know where he's at, and he doesn't want to bring the wrong kind of attention to himself. It takes a herculean amount of effort to drag his body behind some abandoned boxes and other piles of garbage towards the back of the alley. A poor attempt at hiding, because his Innocence was acting up, and no amount of desperate silent pleas to stop whatever it was doing would work. His body being mostly hidden from view gives him some relief. Barely.

If someone decides to investigate, he wonders if asking nicely will be enough to make them leave him be. He doesn't know what else to do.

[deadmandraw]

Well. It's not like he's in any condition to struggle against someone so insistent. Allen can't help but resign himself to this situation. At least the man isn't trying to kill him or something. Small mercies. The bar is absolutely on the ground. It probably always has been, now that he thinks about it. He doesn't want to think about it.

The feathery tendrils sprouting from his arm seem to almost reach towards Knives instead of the heavens, when he gets closer. They brush against him, and for a brief moment there's a flicker of -- something, from it. The suggestion of a separate being, of the arm's own sentience; it expresses the impression of something equal parts desperation, protectiveness, confusion, and fear.

"Ugh," is all Allen can say at first. The taste of black blood still heavy on his tongue. He truly doesn't have the strength to protest much further. He's a bit heavier than his slight frame would suggest, though; all wiry, compact muscle and the mass of whatever his left arm actually is. He can't bring himself to quite look at the man directly, as he goes to pick him up. It takes him a beat to process he's being asked another question.

"I... don't know. I just... woke up here?"

Confusion answers Knives' question just as well as anything else. It's clear that the young man is not a plant, and that should be where the interaction ends. Some random stranger in the garbage isn't his problem and if he dies here he'll just respawn at home. It should be, and yet Knives makes no move to leave. He just stares.

Something about the young man's appearance is just familiar enough to worm it's way into Knives' cracked and scarred heart. No, he's not going to get attached, but he can at least make sure the poor thing doesn't have to die alone surrounded by trash.

"Do you live nearby?" Knives asks, pointedly ignoring the weak protests. He crouches down to forcefully try and loop one of the man's arms around his neck; intending for his next step to be hefting him back on to his feet.

[deadmandraw]

Terrible bedside manners are, somehow, more comforting than the softness of more practiced concern. Wow. Wonder what that says about him— that he actually prefers coldness over warmth right now? Someone chokes on a laugh, at the thought. He's not sure if it was him or the other guy or the one behind his churning gut and piercing headache. It was probably him.

"I... guess you can say they've been getting worse, as of late."

He closes his eyes for a moment. If only the very act of existing didn't hurt so much. "First time I've woken up somewhere different, though, I ought to say."

Even though he knows that the young man is not a plant. It's hard not to feel something about the way the tendrils move and the feeling of it brushing against him. Not a plant, but something alive and beyond human. Knives can tell that much. It's almost tempting to try reaching out to it like he can with his sisters, but he at least has the presence of mind to know that has more chances of going horribly wrong than it does being worthwhile.

"Do you have a history of blacking out in strange places, or is this a new development?" Knives asks, with all of the bedside manner of a rock. It's clear he's annoyed, despite the situation being entirely avoidable by accepting the young man's request for him to leave.

"Mm… Let me clarify, actually. Did you experience blackouts prior to arriving in this city?"

[deadmandraw]

Well, Allen was frankly in too much pain to do much of anything at the moment. So, when a man enters the alleyway and gets too close to be comfortable, there's not much else for him to do but try to bury himself further into the piles of rubbish. It's not the most pleasant thing, but he's suffered worse. Lips tightly pressed together in a grimace, he can only stare back with an open look of unease and trepidation. Why was he looking at him like that?

Of course, instead of mercifully deciding to turn around and pretend he didn't see anything, he starts talking. It takes him a moment to process what the man had said. He blinks, and struggles against both the feeling of his Innocence humming uncomfortably and his insides turning themselves inside out.

The most he manages to croak out is a confused, "What?" Before something inside of him decides to shift. For a brief instant, there is an uncomfortable pressure in the air around the boy, as he doubles over in pain and coughs up a black substance. His arm bristles, some of the feathers sharpening into blades instinctively, before relaxing again.

Ah. So it was the 14th's fault that his body was committing mutiny against him. Figures.

"Please. Just — go away," He manages after a moment, using the back of his other hand to roughly wipe the substance from his mouth. He stares at it. Mumbles something under his breath, too quiet and slurred together to be intelligible. Probably something along the lines of 'oh, that's not good.'

Eventually, his gaze flicks back up to the man. Confused as to why he's still there.

It's rare to find Knives simply wandering around the city streets. A bad habit that's carried over from his universe and the days where mingling among the "maggots" that infest the cities of No Man's Lands made him nauseous. These days, Humans still make him uncomfortable, but nowhere near the degree that they used to. Working at Club Euphoria has helped, as has the general strides he's been making towards becoming a better person.

There's also the fact that Knives isn't wandering aimlessly, but with purpose. As August fast approaches, so too does Legato's birthday. A birthday that he's woefully under prepared for. He hasn't even found a gift yet, but he's hoping to change that today. Hoping being the operative word. He knows there's a few things his partner has shown an interest in lately, but Knives hasn't bought a present before and he feels a bit of pressure to get it right.

Legato would probably be happy with a blank sheet of paper or a blade of grass, as long as it comes from Knives. Which means he has to be extra sure that it's a truly good gift. The perfect gift.

That's Knives' plan, at least. Then he notices something reaching out from an alleyway a little ways ahead of him. It doesn't feel like a plant, but it's shape is reminiscent of their feathers. Reaching out doesn't yield the familiar feeling of his siblings, but neither does reaching out to the younger Vash.

Knives tries to think rationally about it. The chance that it's another plant is incredibly low, given what he knows about their universes. Plus, there's nothing particularly unique about having feathers or angelic features in the grand scheme of the universe, but… It doesn't stop his heart from skipping a beat. Nor does it stop him from speeding up as soon as he decides to investigate the source of the feathery tendrils.

In the alley, there's no obvious sign of the tendrils source, but it's not hard to follow them until he finds it. Though, the closer Knives gets, his pace begins to slow. Despite the growing apprehension, he doesn't stop until he's standing over a young man; somewhere in his mid to late teens, if going by human standards.

Looking at the young man among the rubbish, it does almost look like an independent plant losing control of it's gate. The tendrils even seem to be originating from the young man's arm, just like his and Vash's Angel Arms. Unlike a plant, however, there's no pressure to the young man's presence. His clothing also doesn't look like anything that might come from his or the other universe. It's more akin to the older eras of Earth fashion, but not quite.

Knives realizes after a few moments that he should probably say something, instead of leering at the young man like a researcher discovering a rare bug. Maybe something reassuring or some offer of help. Something to calm the clearly distressed young man.

"Are you a plant?" Knives asks.

Well, there was no line of people ready to claim Knives had good bedside manners and it seems that the young man wouldn't be the first. Oh well, at least Knives is trying to help. Probably.