just keeping the peace. @cowboycheeseslime - Tumblr Blog

❛ eh .. yes? i - if-a you're feeling better. ❜ look, he wasn't just gonna let vigilante curdle, out in the sun. he might've been a sharp - shooting sonovabitch, but pepps certainly held no ill will.

hardest p rank of his life.

nothing came after him. he was .. pretty sure. other than john, of course, but the old ghost likely haunted the place, often. he instinctively glanced over his shoulder, though. ❛ n - no. nothing followed. i could, ah. get your 'stuff' for you, and then you could-a tell me what's going on .. ? ❜

cowboycheeseslime

He looks over his shoulder and there is nothing out of place. Not a sound or sight to indicate any other presence, right now. It's just them, the two of them, on the floor (or close to) of Vigilante's little farmhouse.

Slowly, Vigi props himself up on his elbows. "Yeah, that... yeah. No. No. Wait." He pushes himself up onto his... well, he's upright now, that's all that matters. "You ain't goin' nowhere alone. It's... it could be too dangerous. Don't know if it's... if it might come back."

"C'mon... just gotta couple of extra cheese wheels... down there, the cellar. My type of cheese. It'll help me."

#!ic #funiculiholiday #?lore #the gold standard of what he deserves rn <3

funiculiholiday

this was good. goodgoodgood. that he was able to recognize pepps and at least recognize that he was conscious set the pizzaiolo's heart more at ease.

at least .. a little bit.

❛ no. you're-a not dead. i stopped the, uh. bleeding? i don't know if-a you need anything to .. ❜ form another leg? is that how cheeseslimes worked? most of them had just sort of laid there in a puddle, when he'd bull - rushed through them in the tower.

❛ i, uh. i got a pie, outside. i - if-a the cheese on it would .. help? ❜ he hoped that wasn't insensitive or weird. and he wouldn't have wanted to jeopardize a delivery, but he'd be giving the recipient an i.o.u, anyway. the pizza was already cold by now.

cowboycheeseslime

"Wha... the bleedin'... right. Right..." His words feel sluggish and slow on his tongue. Vigilante refocuses on the visitor, blinking a few times in confusion. "You...? Saved me?"

"Nothin'... nothin' come after you. Right?" Did it follow you did it hurt you "No, no, I don't... that's fine, it's all... I got, stuff. The basement. Not on a pie." A harsh breath, in and out. "... thank you..."

By now he's reabsorbed his remaining lower limb, but Vigilante still seems less solid than before.

#!ic #?lore #funiculiholiday #he lives :) at what cost :(

danger. danger. danger. SNAP OUT OF IT.

"..." He's not 100% lucid, but what passes for his heart beats a little faster.

#!ic #!dash view #?lore

It's a... very good thing that he's currently unable to do a lot of moving, right now. If he'd been more physically capable, he would've already tried to hunt down that freak - and more than almost anyone else, he would be the one to find that location.

And then. Well.

It is a good thing he did not witness what happened.

#!ic #!dash view #?lore #if there is a next time i do not think fake will be satisfied with just a limb

funiculiholiday

pepps was no cheeseslime biologist, of course. he was navigating mostly by basic knowledge of first medical response, and a slightly more skilled knowledge of different types of cheeses.

for the time being, it was best to wait and see if vigilante's vitals(?) stabilized. he glanced up when he heard the fabric pulled from the back of the couch, moving to help the ghost pull it over his grandson.

and then, all they could do was .. wait.

the chef wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. he felt like he shouldn't even be there, saving the vigilante's life aside. after what had happened in the tower, how he'd treated them, all of the misunderstanding. the thought alone made him pick at his cuticles. it was a wound that was still fresh, for him. not so long ago, he'd led everyone -- everyone -- down from that tower. but some trust wasn't so easy to rebuild.

he was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't notice the cowboy stirring, at first. and when he did, a cold sweat broke out at his brow. one of nervousness, but also relief.

❛ g - grazie a dio -- can you hear me, vigilante? ❜

cowboycheeseslime

There is nothing, for a bit of time. And then there is something - fingers twitching, curling, eyes fluttering, a dry mouth opening and a heavy gasp for breath... Vigilante, to his credit, does not attempt to sit up nor does he raise a fuss. He lays on the floor, squinting at the ceiling as his senses begin to return. Hearing's the last one to show up but he slowly turns his head to look at Pepps.

"... Mr. Spaghetti...?" He lets his gaze wander, but John's already lost his hold on the mortal world for the moment. Which is probably for the best given his next (croaked) question. "... I ain't dead...?"

#!ic #funiculiholiday #?lore

funiculiholiday

his first instinct at a towel being thrown in his face is to let out a pathetic little yelp. his second instinct is ma che cazzo, and other such expletives. he does not presently have a gun that can shoot ghosts, somehow --

but, john doesn't look like he wants to turn pepps into swiss cheese. he looks ..

the chef gives him an understanding nod, a silent thank - you for the towel. he runs out -- and inevitably runs back in, stealing a wooden spoon from the counter. he'd left vigi on the floor, both so that no rolling off of anything would take place, and to keep the oil - whey - blood from making too much of a mess.

it's been a long time since he's fashioned a tourniquet, but he ties the towel loosely around the limb's stump, and then pushes the spoon's handle through the knot. he twists. twists. twists. twists .. and gradually, the fluid stops seeping.

cowboycheeseslime

At this point? It's definitely whey. Vigilante is absolutely oozing whey onto the floor, and he isn't even lucid enough to complain about how hard it'll be to clean up. As John watches from the doorway with a truly concerned look on his face, Pepps successfully ties off the makeshift tourniquet and tightens it... and tightens it...

Thank god the fluid wasn't gushing out of him. If anything, the whey definitely seemed slower to drain out than actual blood. (Did cheeseslimes have hearts? What did they have?)

Vigilante is still unconscious, but at least he won't be losing any more of his whey. But what now?

... John is already drifting closer, briefly pausing to stare at his grandson with teary, worried eyes - before he's yanking a folded-up quilt off the back of the couch and attempting to tug it over to the collapsed form still motionless on the ground. It's taking him some significant ghostly effort, though.

#!ic #!guest #?lore #funiculiholiday #we can do a timeskip to where vigi regains consciousness if you want :o

funiculiholiday

reaction was extremely good. that meant that vigi was still alive, but losing a leg was nothing to scoff at. in such a spot, a human would've bled out where they laid and that would've been that. pepps shuddered at the thought.

the farmhouse was cool, and the chef was grateful for respite from the sweat he was working up. he looked for somewhere to place the cheeseslime down, first. he wasn't necessarily looking for a first - aid kit, though. how in the hell did you tourniquet someone made of cheese?

❛ come on, come on .. ❜ if he came across a first - aid kit, all the better, but regardless, pepps was opening doors, looking for a kitchen or a bedroom, a belt or a dish towel or something with which to cut off circulation to a lack of limb.

cowboycheeseslime

There's a coffee table - or maybe the couch? Or perhaps just on the floor would be fine, that way he wouldn't roll onto it from any height. But no matter what the chef picks, Vigilante is still (mostly) silent. His reaction had been limited to slight movement.

A door opens to a small kitchen and dining room, and a towel is practically flung at Pepps. There's a chill in the air before the faintest flicker of another--

oh. Oh, right.

Unlike before, when John E. Cheese had come forth with intent to harm, this time the concern is clearly written on his face. He's not going to stab this man with the pitchfork affixed to his body, though it is there, just sort of stuck menacingly to the spirit's side.

Please, his expression seems to say. Don't let him join me yet.

#!ic #funiculiholiday #!guest #?lore

funiculiholiday

@cowboycheeseslime || oh fuck oh shit--

not the response ( or lack thereof ) that he would've liked, honestly. and judging by the fluid smeared down the steps -- oil, or whey, or blood -- it's probably in pepps's best interest to get the vigilante somewhere safe.

he has no idea if he's in the line of any sort of fire, but the chef pushes those thoughts away. the immediate area didn't seem to pose any particular danger, and if there was something dangerous in the house, there's a good chance that the cowboy would've been trying to leave. he scoops vigi into his arms, hefting him over a shoulder, freeing a hand to try the porch's door.

❛ n - non preoccuparti. imma gonna patch you up. ❜ blessedly, first aid was a thing that the chef at least knew the basics of .. although, whether it was largely similar for cheeseslimes or if vigi even had proper first aid utilities was left to be seen.

cowboycheeseslime

The cowboy doesn't weigh much - considering he's missing about 11-14% of his mass - so he's easily picked up and tossed over the shoulder, and there's just a slurred mumble of frustration and pain.

The screen door squeaks open easily, and the normal door past that takes some yanking on the handle but it finally swings to let the duo inside. Vigilante tenses against Pepps's hold, the squeal of those springs a familiar sound to him.

Breathing picks up. Fingers curl into fists. He's getting there, he's returning to some form of lucidity, but... for now, he's just reacting. But at least he is reacting.

The room before Pepps is an old-fashioned sitting room, and to his immediate right is a cracked-open closet door. It all has that rustic, untreated wood kind of aesthetic. Surely the cowboy-slash-vigilante has some sort of first-aid kit within easy reach of the front door, right?

#!ic #funiculiholiday #we appreciate vigilante here...#?lore

pepps doesn't usually get orders all the way out in oregano desert, these days. but he really needs the money. even if the distance is kind of a hassle, who is he to turn a delivery down?

it's likely by sheer luck that he passes by the farm, on his scooter. sheer luck makes him look over at just the right time to see the cheeseslime collapsed, in the yard. his blood runs cold. he practically tips over his scooter as he skids to a halt, tumbling off of it and hurrying over.

" hey -- a - amico, you okay? what happened? "

He's greeted with the sight of a fainted cheeseslime, a wound clipping one leg past the equivalent of a knee. Vigilante's clearly bled something- perhaps the slime equivalent of blood? It's left a trail down the porch steps, a glossy liquid with the faintest hint of yellow, like oil.

At the voice, he does not stir. There is no response other than a soft, pained groan.

How long has it been since he fell here? Since his gloved hands gave up on their attempt to pull him into his home?

#!ic #!answered #funiculiholiday #?lore

Let's be real, here. He doesn't expect trouble to come to him. Trouble usually gives him a wide berth. It's not going to bother the Vigilante - usually, the Vigilante is the one bothering the Trouble.

But today...

He drags himself to the porch of his old farmhouse, teeth clenched tight as his fingers dig into the dirt, into the dirt, into the dirt and then into weathered wood.

"God... damn..." he hisses, glancing back at the spot where his left leg used to be. Opaque fluid dribbles from the ragged tear, dripping down the porch steps.

"God... dammit..."

He collapses then and there, just feet away from safety.

#!ic #?lore #...