[ h a l c y o n . ] ₍ ₁₈₊ ₎ @amoirsetpacis - Tumblr Blog

The song of humanity continues to be sung.

Vash the Stampede || Trigun Maximum. isola affiliated || selectively indie friendly. written by roo.

rules. | app. | stats. | tracker. | bsky.

@amoirsetpacis // from [ here ]:

The voice memo files are sent unceremoniously, a few hours after the talk; they're all in one folder labeled 'Message For Vash'. Vash doesn't attach any personal commentary to the files, sending them wholesale with automated transcriptions of each.

amoirsetpacis

★ --;; At some point, Vash had started crying.

He only becomes aware of it as finally, finally, one of the fat drops rolls down off his face and splatters across the glass of his phone; the screen starts to jitter with confusion from the input. The audio starts again, gets confused, skips forward and loops back around on itself. Vash locks it, doesn't stop staring at it.

A strange numbness sits there in his chest, despite the tears; unsure what, exactly, he feels. If it can even be simply defined, categorized.

It doesn't feel like anger, not really. All of that had already--. Had already made its way out, it seems; had been sucked out of him and left hand in hand with the person who had left those notes.

Mostly it's just-- hurt, he things. Disappointment in himself, that everything had come to what it had, though some part of him had known the truths presented now, here, in their posthumous state.

That he'd let the other down so thoroughly, that the lies were still there, still easy to pick apart, even after they had both known the inevitable was coming, after they'd already argued over that, too. That he hadn't been there as he should have, that he'd scared the other off from learning anything further. Maybe it would have helped or--. Or something. With his track record, it's hard to be sure.

That he had continued to think that the lot of them would be better off if he were to just get everything over and done with-- as though the aftermath wouldn't leave a gaping hole in its wake. That he'd even thought-- continued to think, that they would want to wipe their hands of him completely.

There had been nothing left to forgive; and, really, he shouldn't have gone and made the younger Stampede feel that way in the first place. He thought--. He doesn't know what he thought. Had believed or wanted to believe, foolishly, selfishly, that things were slowly stitching themselves back together. Should have-- probably had-- known better than the dream running away had given him.

Now, all that sits are regrets, buried amongst the mourning he'd swallowed poorly int he face of he who had come after. Can't help but wonder if things might have gone differently, if they both hadn't met Eriks that day in the woods.

And that, too, is selfish-- isn't it?

For a while he sits there, feeling frozen on his perch at the kitchen island, phone flat and dark in front of him. The room is bright, mid-afternoon sunlight filtering through the windows. It takes a long while for him to finally get up, the weight of grief he'd easily volunteered to take not that much earlier now seeming to have shackled itself around his ankles, belted his lap to the chair.

Eventually, silently, he pulls himself up and goes out tot he back porch. IT's warm with the arrival of early summer, the quiet sounds of insects and birds filtering through the muted forever-orchestra of the rest of the city beyond the garden walls. Members of each patch of flowers, leaves on bushes, sway gently with the occasional breeze.

Vash... owes him now, doesn't he? Owed it to him then, and hadn't followed through even when he'd said he would. Now, if anything, the debt has doubled; as much hurt as this city is capable of doling out, it continues to keep giving him chances at redemption, second chances it never entirely feels as though he deserves, that he keeps fumbling.

So he owes this new-old friend that isn't quite his friend yet, either, not yet, all those things, too-- if he wants them. It's retroactive-- too little too late. But if it remained nothing when it had the chance to be something, Vash isn't sure he'd be able to forgive himself for it, just as with so many of his other sins. Another ghost to hover over his shoulder.

His phone had come with him, dragged along off the counter. He isn't sure how long he's sat in silence, now, though the sun has definitely continued its slow but steady descent. It's probably dry by now, but Vash wipes the screen off on his pants leg before tapping on the screen to wake it up anyway.

[ text: ] thank you

It's too simple. It's not enough. At the same time, even that feels too much somehow, after what the two of them had been like earlier over lunch. Vash's footing has been so unsure about so many things over the years-- but he's always managed to make it to the other end of the beam, in one way or another. This one seems to only ever get longer, more uneven, no matter the attempt at crossing.

He stares at the message for a long time. It gets sent anyway, eventually; lies to himself that he won't check later whether it was read or not, nor the following messages either.

[ text: ] let me know your answer [ text: ] whenever youre ready [ text: ] about the whole being friends thing [ text: ] i'd like to [ text: ] if you'd let me

Now it really is too much. He turns the phone off.

#cw: suicide / jic #[ drabble. ]#[ closed. ]#blankticket

alxmighty

"I don't cook often lately, so it probably isn't that."

"... Dang it, I'm really getting old."

amoirsetpacis

Two geezers are better than one! ... Probably.

"Air conditioner on? Phone at home? Wallet?"

#[ ic. ]#alxmighty

alxmighty

"Hm."

"I feel like I'm forgetting something."

amoirsetpacis

"Leave the stove on?"

#[ ic. ]#alxmighty

hollowfaith

In Aurelius's eyes, they are finally getting along—mostly because the conversation continues instead of devolving into physical altercation. He can accept a little more with this fact, even Vash's snippier tone.

Being called wise was a compliment in mortal terms, after all.

"I will concede your points," the angel declares magnanimously, coaxing the new life in his hands to grow. The stem matures into the shape of a slender trunk that slowly gains strength and extends into arching branches with thick green leaves.

"Therefore, let us come to a compromise."

"Accept me and my visits as they are, because you are still a soul that intrigues me. I will already consider that a step forward in the right direction."

Really, the only objection he has to this Vash is his propensity to sit still and wallow. It was like watching a boat caught in a current on the river, forced to sail endlessly in circles. He couldn't help but want to nudge it out of place.

"I have no interest in converting you to a faith, mine or otherwise," the blond adds, "because of all the hassle that'd take. But I'll compensate you for your time in any case. Where do you want this?"

With a mental tug, he pulls his newly minted plant out of the soil—it's a lovely angel trumpet shrub with bright red flowers, still small enough to fit in a pot.

amoirsetpacis

★ --;; Ideally nowhere in my garden, comes the immediate venom on Vash's tongue. The gentle and persistent care that's been poured into it along with the hands of those he cares for feels as though it's been slapped in the face in front of something simply there to try to prove a point, careless in its growth. Compensation that would have already been unwanted in any form somehow finds itself even less so. The disrupted soil only serves to irritate him further, the cherry on top of everything else.

If he's going to apparently have to swallow the pill of visits, plural, then he can at least try to make it bearable. A barb of his own, even if Aurelius might not see it in exactly the same way.

"Take it with you," he says.

"And take care of it. On your own. Learn to keep it alive and thriving. Without any of--" his hand wiggles back and forth in the air, fingers along with it, as though that were sufficient enough explanation, " --all of that. Do it the old fashioned way. That's where I want it."

Maybe that would teach him something-- maybe. If that thing was solely how to take care of that singular plant, then so be it. "And if you're so intent on comin' to 'visit', then you'll give me a progress report whenever you do. Think of that as my 'compensation'."

#[ ic. ]#hollowfaith

hollowfaith

“It seems apparent that neither of us can speak on the same wavelength,” Aurelius replies sourly. He thought he’d interpreted Vash’s words clearly enough. Instead, like trying to dig blindly among roots, all he did was stir up dirt and tangle himself in the complex tendrils mixed up underground.

“Can we at least be clear on one point?”

“I have no more interest in your body or whatever things you keep in it. I am speaking of the stagnation of the soul.”

He steps to the side and taps a patch of ground with his toe. A sprout of some plant or another blooms in response, rising up to meet his hands that caress at the leaves.

“Why you continue to fixate on physical flaws is beyond me. I am more annoyed by your consistently defeatist personality, which I do owe up for failing to change or improve. If you are content to settle for that, so be it. Humans are always blaming the divine for being rigid and inflexible, yet here you are more stubborn to change than any of them.”

amoirsetpacis

★ --;; Well-- at least that's one person. After so long of having his physical body being used as the knife against his throat, it would have been difficult to not follow that line of thought along the path it had taken him. The 'no more' still gives him paise; because then, it seems, he'd at least been partially correct-- but that's left tucked away, to be examined some other time.

Doesn't stop Vash from frowning at the new addition to his garden, which had been carefully kept by his own hands and those of whom he cared for, those he wanted to share it with. Aurelius was neither of those things-- though he'd still prefer not to cut the life of the poor thing short, no matter its progenitor.

"Two things can be true," he offers, if only to continue to dance on the other's nerves in turn. "I know I'm stubborn." If he hadn't been, sone part of him wonders if he ever would have made it through all he head. "But I don't really have all that much faith in 'the divine' bein' any less so, either."

It makes it that much harder to even begin to agree with the man in his yard-- though it's hard to believe that the two of them would ever come to an agreement easily, anyway. Had he been 'defeatist', there would have been a great many more people back home that would have met an early grave from his idle hands.

"But, alright then, 'oh wise one'," he goes on, arms still crossed and still unmoving from his spot up on the porch. He's still acutely aware of his own mean streak flashing bright as a neon sign-- but the guilt, inevitably, will come later. Right now, it simply holds the same satisfaction as digging a finger into a day-old bruise. "What would you suggest then?"

#[ ic. ]#hollowfaith

merylderringer

Meryl gives a half-hearted laugh at the admission. "I mean you almost did for two years." She points out - his time spent somwhere well after the incident at Jeneora Rock.

"You did try," she says after a while, "and it kind of made me mad." That feels weird to admit, but Meryl wants to be honest.

"I know Wolfwood was way more capable in fighting, but Millie and I aren't - weren't - helpless. Just... human."

She looks over at her friend. "I don't blame either of you, though."

amoirsetpacis

★ --;; Yet another point he can't argue with her over; those two years he'd spent in relative peace, stolen time. They were probably never fated to last, anyway, the more he thinks about it. Wonders, if they hadn't been doomed from the start, if one of their ragtag little group would have found him anyway.

"I know that, now," he offers instead, once again finding himself unsure of just how much to disclose to the woman sitting next to him; she was still the same friend she had ever been, and yet telling her all that she had yet to see felt-- wrong. A warning she wouldn't even be able to do anything with of what was to come, the worry that would inevitably come with it; at the same time, a reassurance that he knew exactly what she was capable of, though that still did little to staunch the fear, the worry that had carved such an extensive hole of a home in his heart.

"But at the time, I'd rather've had you angry at me than hurt or in danger." Another half-hearted laugh; "Prob'ly still would, If it were to come down to it and I'm bein' honest." Which, in itself, is a large step for someone so used to dipping sentences in only partial truths. Though, clearly, it hadn't mattered what he'd wanted back then.

"It's finished now, though. Behind the both of us." More than she knew, even though she still had yet to see with her own eyes the chaos awaiting them all in Octovern. "Can't go back and change it now, anyway." No matter how often his plagued chest sometimes wished it were possible. "No takin' it back."

#[ ic. ]#merylderringer

teenymagic

Richeh nods an affirmative nod when Vash asks if she was given a contraption like his when she arrived.

Her eyes follow the screen as Vash finds Agott, then Professor Qifrey. She stares in awe.

"So if Richeh sees their name, that means they are here somewhere?" The girl softly asks the adult.

amoirsetpacis

★ --;; "It does," Vash nods. "It also means that you can talk to them, using this." He taps on the screen again, and this time the ocntact number appears, as well as a little icons of a phone and a video camera ( though he had no idea if she even knew what those were ), as well as a speech bubble.

"This one lets you talk with them, this one lets you see their face, and this one let you send them a message, see?"

There are more uses than just those-- paying for things in a city that must be so foreign being chief among them-- but for now, this remains the most important. "Would you like me to?"

#[ ic. ]#teenymagic

punisheye

He's been watching him like a hawk for the past ten minutes from where he's perched on the armrest of the sofa, ankle tucked under the opposite knee. Dead silent, his expression the usual one of perpetual irritation even if he's feeling perfectly fine on the inside.

When Vash finally dares to venture a little closer, Wolfwood's moving like lightning, arms shooting out so he can grab his husband by the waist and pull him in, sending them both tumbling onto the sofa. The sofa cushions his fall, and he cushions Vash's with a soft grunt.

Patting the back of his head, he says, "Howdy."

@amoirsetpacis

amoirsetpacis

★ --;; The relative peace of normal day-to-day life has done little to dull the senses that had spent over a century and a half being developed. Puttering around their own home, despite the comfort of doing so, does not create any exception to that rule.-- so he's keenly aware from the first moment of eyes being on him. He knows exactly who they belong to, though, so the hairs on the back of his neck stay flat.

At least, for a little while. The longer the feeling persists, Vash finally sends a questioning glance over his shoulder from where he'd been watering one of the hanging plants in the kitchen. He's made a point of understanding Wolfwood's various faces, of being able to read him and all the meanings that come with each time of stare, and though he's been leveled with much more direct irritation many time before the extent of the one he's the current subject of has his movements slowing, uncertain.

Did he... doe something wrong? Forget something? No-- Wolfwood would have been direct with him if it was something that simple, neither of them shy to that sort of thing. So...?

Finally, after a few more minutes without any sort of answer presenting itself, Vash huffs and pouts and shuffles over.

"If this is about your anniversary gift,"

"then I'm bot budgin' on not tellin' you--?!"

Vash yelps as he's yanked forward, only to be muffled as his face plants itself in the couch cushion at the junction of his husband's neck and shoulder. It takes a moment for him to finally shift so he doesn't have a mouthful of fabric, pout still firmly on his face, even with the fingers in the hair at the back of his head. HIs feet dangle up in the air, knees bent akimbo.

"All that for a hello?"

#[ ic. ]#punisheye #pretend im not a week late replying to this and their anniversary hadn't already passed LMFAO

sinscythe

Knives awaits the response with bated breath, expecting to hear exactly what he - in the privacy of his own mind, at least - deserves to hear. A response that could momentarily ease the stubborn pain that has been sitting in his cranium for weeks. A thought that is so childish that if he were in his right mind, it would have made him chuckle and shake his head in disbelief.

I was right. I was right all along!

A sentiment an excitable child might shout at the top of their lungs, accompanied by victorious laughter and a pointed finger.

The image that he allows to take shape in his mind shifts and distorts, turning the scene from the white sterile walls of a spaceship back to this odd reality. Falling rain turns the surroundings blurry, like he is watching the scene through a heavy, gray curtain. The fabric of the jacket clings to his skin, bringing a shiver down his spine.

His raised shoulders drop, all joints let loose at once to create a movement that is as unnatural as the way he carries the rest of himself.

They are wild animals, and I sent you off for slaughter!

In this moment, he holds onto it as an absolute truth to bring himself cold comfort. Knives had trusted those people during his last weeks alive, to the point that he was willingly aiding their survival. He had given them the greatest gift imaginable, a payment for their unexpected generosity, and left them the only thing that held any importance to him anymore.

The exact moment that sent him and Vash off on this long, disappointing road towards the end remains fresh in his mind. He has carved every detail of it into his ribcage. There were no steps left to retrace. Knives could never walk back and piece them back together, stay, and make him understand. There was no getting through his twin's thick skull with common sense. It was, unfortunately, a trait they shared.

" I've always believed in what I see with my own eyes. "

The narrower the gap between them grows, the further away Knives drags his gaze. The dark bags carve deep underneath his tired eyes, brows knitted into a tense frown. He makes no effort to reach closer, his feet remaining planted firmly on the concrete, where the dents are forming into puddles from the rain. The ground could quake and split in half, and he would not budge.

" You are. And it never stopped them from trying. "

amoirsetpacis

★ --;; The force with which Vash has to abruptly bite his tongue may as well have split the damn thing in half; in an instant, the gentle approach he'd hoped for, had wanted to offer his hand to, becomes even further of a pipe dream than it had been in the first place. Really, he shouldn't have expecting anything less ( probably, in some part of himself, didn't ); his brother has always seemed to have a talent for tap dancing on that line, ever since they'd fallen from the heavens, meteors crashing down into the dirt and bringing all the destruction that came with such a collision in their wake.

"Well," Vash says, as evenly as he can, "You're looking with your eyes right now, aren't you?" The halted motions of his footsteps once again come to an utter stand-still, as if all the tightness in his jaw had traveled down through his nerves, into his feet, through his calves, locking him in place.

There's more he could add, easily; that Knives himself had had no small roll in the hurt that had forever nipped at Vash's heels ( and that of the entire damn planet, if he really wanted to keep digging ). But they've already had that conversation too many times to count and in almost ever conceivable way they could have.

Well. Except, maybe, civilly. Which really is the opportunity presenting itself here, isn't it? Still, Vash isn't sure he has the argument in him ( and it will be an argument, there's no way around that-- of this he is sure ). At least, not right now.

"And this isn't the afterlife." No matter how many specters seemed to haunt this city's streets, seem to find Vash here with the joy and the sorry they carry in tandem with their presence; Vash himself included in that number, to some extent. "Been here long enough to know that much."

The painful implication of it goes unsaid; that if this were in fact the afterlife, wouldn't Knives had found himself here first? And yet, instead, Vash has carried that quiet sadness with him; the time they'd been given and not, the ways in which it had been wasted, the impassable gaps formed from that which was taken away from them. A race with no winners.

So Vash sighs, the chill in his skin seeping down through to his nerves rendered almost so trivial as to not even be there. Because he can't-- won't-- follow down that same path again, and it's all his body can handle, can latch on to. He owes it to Rem, to his brother, to himself-- though the ease with which that due is swallowed very quickly curtails, even going down such a short list. Unsticks his feet again. Finishes crossing the rest of the distance that still feels just as daunting as having an entire wasteland between them both.

It's-- awkward. The world isn't collapsing around then, and they are not grappling one another in the face of the end of tat least one of them, and Vash sits the one between them with memories unshared. IT's awkward, with a body so used to anticipating the pain that will inevitably come with such a thing as simple as laying a had on his brother's shoulder.

But his palm sits there, and neither his brother nor the ground beneath Vash's feet turn into nothing, and that's got to count for something.

"See?" he goes on, quiet under the sound of raindrops softly coating the pavement, tapping against the nearby fire escape. "Just as physical as you are."

#[ ic. ]#sinscythe #the joke here is that techincally in isola theyre both just data

blankticket

Ironically, the other Vash's sincerity is difficult to handle head-on. Some polished inner mirror has been pulled out from the future, and set out in front of him. It's nearly downright eerie to have another self treat Vash so generously, and without any sign of resentment, especially after his very existence has unrightfully replaced another self.

For both his past self and this future-alternate to look out for him, despite anticipating the grief he'd bring... Well, he's got much to learn, still—even with how old he already is.

"You really... feel that way, huh." His head's slowly bowed, as though rushing thoughts bear physical weight. Hands stay in his lap, knowing there's no warmth left to steal from the underside of the bowl in front of him. "Thank you. I just didn't want to let that chance for you to go without gettin' pointed out."

When he straightens up, Vash still looks unhappy and anxious, even if the other's words have helped to lighten his heart. No question the other Plant has meant every kind word, however hard it is to internalize, let alone accept. There's still an unease and doubt he holds closer to his heart, easy for the other to read, since it's been put to print for 152 years: how is it possible to move into the future when the past wounds so deeply?

"Lemme handle the bill?" he offers with a timid smile. "I think I'm headed off my own way after this, after all. You're good company, but I need to think on this without cheating off your paper, y'know?"

amoirsetpacis

★ --;; "Aw," Vash pouts. "I'm nothin' but a C student at best, y'know, Ain't no use cheatin' off a' me."

Grief is an old acquaintance- though it's never entirely pleasant to greet, always brings carrying in its arms the aches of would-have-could-have-beens. The weight of it, sometimes, the severity of its barbs, feels too heavy, too difficult and terrifying to come near, let alone bear with steady shoulders; they always seem to droop. It would make Vash even more of a liar than he already is if he were to say he wasn't one to run from it; but it's here already, a specter in the form of a figure not in this booth with them, not really, and it's always so much easier to haul the burden of it when it's in service of someone else.

"Doesn't mean I'm not a determined one, though. Even though I've got a habit of trippin' over my own feet-- and just about everyone else's for that matter."

It's not easy to accept what he's offering, Vash knows. Because if their roles were reversed, he knows he'd be doing an even worse job of letting similar words soak in, to not let them slip of his back like oil and water. So he doesn't push it any further, doesn't point out the obvious discomfort that they're both entirely aware of, aware of the other sharing that same knowing.

"Still pretty quick on 'em, though," he says, voice lilting gently as though about to extend his hand yet again. "The feet, I mean."

--Only to instead nab the bill and slide out of the booth too quick for any sort of protest, darting over to the register as quick as his namesake would attest to.

It'd be rude to invite someone to tag along and dump them with the bill, after all.

#[ ic. ]#hehehe tyty and also nw as always #blankticket

gracesavestar

SUNLIGHT BEAMS DOWN UPON THE LITTLE PARK, caressing all it touches with a gentle warmth that, after being in space for so long, grace could come to appreciate in full. nor can he say he's against the way children's laughter seems to permeate the air, subtle screams of delight as a group seem to play with a couple adults in the fray. he had been watching them from a bench, focus from his papers lifting every so often at the more excitable sounds, recalling his days as a simple middle school teacher. it is only when a ball rolls against the tip of his toe that his attention is grabbed in full, taking note that the children had lost their entertainment directly at his feet.

eyes flick between the toy and the others and, eventually, he leans down to pick it up, a press of his hand against his seat to stand him up. he walks over to hand it over, giving the kids a smile, before glancing back to vash in specific. ❝ Here you go. One lost ball back in its habitat, ❞ he chimes, arms crossing shortly after once it was taken. his gaze falls to the group as they begin again, mulling something over in his mind, before he speaks again with an idle rub against his chin.

❝ You, uh. Need another hand in there, pal? ❞ far be it from grace to refuse to give a little bit of joy in a gaggle of children's day, too.

@amoirsetpacis

amoirsetpacis

★ --;; POOMF

The ball in question, only a few seconds prior, had had its trajectory decided for it by way of swiftly and accurately making direct contact with its victim's face. With a dramatic yelp Vash is sent careening down to the ground-- and deliberately begins making a show of things while he's at it. Whining, crocodile tears, the whole nine yards.

"Aw, quit it Mr. Vash!"

"Yeah, we're not falling for that one again!"

Which, really, only serves to act as proof that this is far from the first time he's been promptly beaned in the face by a rogue dodgeball-- or basketball, or soccer ball, or-

"Oh, thanks!" Vash chirps, face bright. The facade is dropped in less than a blink, quicker than he'd even donned it. ( "See! We knew you were faking!" ) Arms reach up from where he's still flat on his back in the grass, grabbing the ball out of the air as it drops down to him.

The ball then promptly gets hucked up and over where the children had have huddled up around him, and they all go stampeding off after it.

"Aw, it's nothin' I'm not used to," Vash grins, finally hauling himself up off the ground and up to his full height.

"But I'd be glad ta' have another set a' hands! And I'm sure the kids'ld like another target to aim at." As if to prove his point, Vash ducks as the same ball goes once again whizzing past over the top of his head, the sea of children parting around them as they sprint past.

#[ ic. ]#gracesavestar #nwnw!!

numberonefiend

"Tis only because I am already at an advantage for being me!" She flips herself upside down, arms dangling as she grins, teeth sharp. She won't need to knock him off to win, she just has to concentrate.

"I'll win because I'm me!" She focuses on his head, pointing as she concentrates.

"Hnnngh..."

"...Aaargh!"

"Hyaaaaaah---" She tries using her voice to charge up. The blood was rushing to her head now!

"It's not working?!"

amoirsetpacis

★ --;; With all the different folks that end up wandering around the city, it's far from uncommon to see people with all sorts of powers. Honestly, Vash wouldn't be all that surprised if she did have some sort of control-- and, really, with his track record he should probably be treating the prospect with a bit more trepidation.

However, watching her exert so much effort makes him... feel a little bad, if he's being honest. So he pauses, blinks for a moment, before--

"Auuughhh--- ohh, my head!" Vash's eyes slip closed, both hands coming up to his temples (though... curiously still continuing to hang where she'd found him).

"Augh! Ow!"

....

( ... Never mind the eye peeking open and then snapping quickly back shut. )

"Ahhhh!"

#[ ic. ]#numberonefiend

merylderringer

Meryl’s body does jump a little, unused to anyone other than Millie placing a caring hand on her, but she doesn’t shift away. The former insurance agent sniffles and continues to dab at her tears. In fact, she leans a little into the touch after a while.

”I don’t think it’d be okay,” Meryl says. “You… didn’t realize you were reacting like that. Or sharing those memories.”

It may be wrong, but it’s what she deducted since she’s sat down here. Meryl sniffles again. “Also, not entirely your fault. I was stubborn. I wanted to stay near you. Eventually, I would have been targeted by Legato and the rest of the Gung-Ho-Guns.”

amoirsetpacis

★ --;; "That--"

Vash opens his mouth to argue-- snaps it shut again, the click almost audible. That no, it wasn't okay, even if he hadn't been able to realize what he was doing. He'd still hurt her, done something he couldn't ever take back, like so many other times in his life. He's not sure if he'll ever be able to entirely accept her forgiveness.

But he should. He should. Shouldn't he?

After so long of letting so many see him as a monster, sometimes it's still difficult to see himself as anything else-- no matter the ache that came with it, just as inescapable as the label.

Instead Vash sighs, eventually lets his hand fall away. Swallows the pill, even though the likelihood of it dissolving, being properly absorbed, still remains questionable. She's not the first to have forgiven him, not the first who he'd had the same hesitancy with.

A laugh half-formed, singular, bubbles forth instead. Though it's one of resignation, it isn't sad. There really won't be any worming his way out of it, will there?

"Guess I've never been all that good at givin' you the slip, huh?" he finally says. Sometimes the fog clears just enough to see why everyone else gets so annoyed with him being so stubborn-- if only because others are throwing the same bullheadedness at him.

The admission doesn't take the weight off his shoulders, not really-- but at this point he knows better than to continue to argue.

"Didn't stop me from tryin', though."

#[ ic. ]#merylderringer

time for this one again

happy pride everyone

charadrxxmxrr

“. . . mmh.”

A dip of the head, the slightest of nods; Chara finally settles on the other end of the couch, though they take extra care not to touch Vash, lest they accidentally infect him with pollen. The cat follows quickly, nuzzling against Chara’s lap to comfort them.

Cats don’t tell lies, so she’s not affected.

“Is it really okay? I always feel like. I am relying on you so much. I am trying my hardest to be independent, but.”

But it’s hard. And Chara stumbles, a lot. People don’t leave them alone here, in this place; it makes Chara’s nerves alight with fear. More than once they’ve crawled into Vash and Wolfwood’s bed, and they’ve never been denied that safety.

It’s all so. . .

“Is it really okay?”

amoirsetpacis

★ --;; "Of course it's okay," Vash says with a shake of his head-- it's said easily, without a second thought. It didn't need one.

"You're still a kid, no matter where you've come from or what your life was like before. You deserve that kind of support. And I offered to help you. That doesn't just suddenly get rescinded."

"If I hadn't wanted to help you, I wouldn't have offered in the first place."

#[ ic. ]#charadrxxmxrr

teenymagic

Richeh stares up at the adult that speaks to her. She clenches her robes in her hands as he talks. He says he's sorry, but is he? Most other adults, apart from Professor Qifrey and their Watchful Eye Olruggio, often said that as a way to condescend to her.

This adult seems different, though. He even offers to help find them. "Professor Qifrey, Olruggio, Coco, Agott, and Tetia." Richeh says, rattling off their names to Vash. "My name is Richeh."

She doesn't ask about Euini. Not yet. Richeh knows he's in hiding. Why would he possibly be brought here?

amoirsetpacis

★ --;; Vash can't blame the girl for any hesitance-- he's an adult she doesn't know in a place that's probably completely foreign to her. If anything, it's probably one of the smartest things she could do. He's glad to have been the one to find her.

"Well, Richeh," he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. The screen brightens, and he taps it a few times to pull up the contact menu. "You can find anyone who's been brought here by using this. You were given one, right?"

He scrolls just a little-- it doesn't take long to find the first name in the list. "See? Agott. But-- probably finding your teacher would be a little more important, right?" He scrolls again, this time further down. Nothing in 'K', so he keeps going until; "Ah, here. Qifrey."

He can only hope that her adults were better at using new technology than he had been when he'd first shown up on the island. Just judging from the girl's clothes, it doesn't seem like something she'd be accustomed to.

#[ ic. ]#teenymagic

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