"How's 'hunting' peace working out for you, brother? I see you have another scar to add to the list of others." [ @knifeinthenight ]
@knifeinthenight
Vash trudges through the windswept desert, his crimson coat fluttering like a wounded flag in the evening light. The sun is sinking below the horizon, casting long shadows that seem to stretch endlessly, matching the exhaustion he tries to conceal. The fight had been resolved—if one can call it that. He’d calmed the situation, talked them down, turned their guns away from each other, but not before someone’s desperation had grazed him.
The injury had stopped bleeding long ago but the ache remains, a sharp sting with every step. Vash is clutching his side lightly, gloved fingers sticky with dry blood. He can't bear the thought of anyone seeing him like this. So he is quickly looking for an isolated place where he could properly fix his appearance as though nothing had happened. But as he drags himself past a jagged outcrop of rock, his instincts scream just a second too late. The familiar voice catches him unprepared.
Vash freezes in his tracks, the hairs on his neck prickling.
He swallows hard, his throat dry. His first instinct is to turn away but that would just show he is trying to hide the obvious. He shifts uncomfortably, pulling his coat tighter around his frame.
“ Knives… I didn’t know you were— ”
—Here...
