The gamut of emotions she is experiencing are similar to when she first set out on her field assignment with Roberto. It feels like ages since that day, running into Vash when he’d been hanging upside down, courtesy of bandits, but memorable enough that she can clearly picture every moment from that day with the utmost clarity.
There are…others, as well, that come to mind, but Meryl does her best to focus on the positives.
She barely registers Knives’s warning about bringing a flashlight and with as many spare batteries as she can carry—and the very obvious threat of not wandering off where humans have seldom gone; if they’ve even gone there before.
Her experience being underground, even inside a giant worm, still counts and is not something she wants to repeat. Under any circumstance.
The reality of what they’re about to do makes her halt in her tracks as she composes herself, nearly forgetting the company she is with, and those memories make her snap to when she remembers that long tendril whip made of sharp blades that could have easily turned her into ribbons.
“O-of course! I’ll keep it to myself!”
Not that she has anyone to talk to. The Bernardelli news agency has been feeling a little hostile towards her lately and Meryl is being careful where she treads. There’s been things going on that don’t quite add up—not like they are supposed to, and she’s being careful where she digs.
At the mention of Nicholas’s moniker, Meryl stops in her tracks like she’s been hit with a compulsion to remain frozen in place.
They had said their goodbyes when it was decided that Home would be where they would part ways.
“I…I don’t know where he is, actually. So, there’s really no point.”
Meryl grits her teeth at the slight tremble in her voice—not because she misses the Undertaker—well…that’s not entirely true but she refuses to admit it—but it is more so of the fact that she doesn’t have anyone she can really talk to. Vash can’t be found; Roberto is dead; Nicholas is…well, she doesn’t know where he is and she’s not about to start looking.
However, that doesn’t mean she’s about to let go of him entirely.
“I’ll need about a day to figure out how I’m gonna pack what I need,” she says, relieved that he’s not demanding they depart right away. It would make sense for him to find someone to look after the farm while he’s gone. “Well, I better get started…”
She gives one last look towards Knives, like she’s waiting for him to change his mind; when it’s clear he is not going to, Meryl books it and the first place she goes to is the nearest saloon. Out of breath, she reaches the counter, she procures a piece of paper from her notebook and a pen that can barely write but this may be its last note it will ever write before the ink completely dries out.
Despite the urgency, Meryl is careful to write clearly, and to not give too much information away. If there is one person who should know about her whereabouts, it has to be Nicholas.
Travelling far on the other side, with sharp company.
Safe and doing okay. Can’t call you, no signal down here.
Haven’t stopped looking. Hope you haven’t, either.
She signals for the barkeep and hands him the note and gives a description of what Nicholas looks like. If he’s not changed since, she’ll expect he’s still carrying around that giant cross and looking as disheveled as ever.
Before she knows it, she’s meeting Knives back at the designated spot, a pack ready of what she considers essential to bring, and feels more nervous than excited at this point.
“Just promise me there won’t be any need to get swallowed up by a giant worm. I’ve already done that and am not a fan. Not a fan at all.”
