#plantfell

[punisheye]

The familiar weight of the Punisher on his back as he moves through the desert heat is an odd comfort. If it weren't for the dried patches of shrubbery and the singular sun he could even pretend he was back on that dry, dying planet.

He cuts the engine of his motorcycle and hops off. With his weapon, there really is no question as to why he's here in the first place. Righteous fury and vengeance and whatnot.

Wolfwood didn't tell anyone where he was going. Hopefully this guy can keep his trap shut. Or his mind. He and Vash have that freaky telepathy shit going on, don't they?

The Ark is a looming, foreboding presence. He never comes out this way, all his trips to Umber have been to visit the younger Stampede and the undertaker. On this island he only has one memory of the Ark, and it isn't pleasant.

As if any of his other memories of the Ark back home are any better.

When the door opens, Wolfwood peers at Knives over his sunglasses. He puffs out smoke from the corner of his mouth, and without preamble he says:

"Where is he?"

@plantfell

[amoirsetpacis]

[ x. ]

★ --;; Vash sighs; he'd suspected as much. Worry for all sorts of outcomes bubbles in his chest, hot and uncomfortable, as they've been wont to do as of late. It's so easy for any sort of progress-- from the lot of them, not just to point fingers at Knives-- to slip away. A century of living with circumstances so similar and yet so different are not so easily written over, no matter tha baby steps they'd both taken to try and begin to rectify them.

... He's not exactly willing to play nice, he finally responds. It's hard to even know where to begin, considering he has no idea just how 'acquainted' the two of them had become. Have you gotten out enough to see the wanted posters...?

@plantfell

[deadlydevotion]

He felt... different this morning. Not much but... Stronger maybe. Mentally he reached out, threads seeking someone randomly passing by on the street outside. A quick little tug on their body was all it took to confirm that yes, he had gotten stronger.

His powers were coming back.

If he hadn't been busy being absolutely delighted (and no small measure of relieved), he might have been embarrassed about the way he absolutely lit up at this discovery. The other side of the bed was empty but not quite cold, so Knives must have just gotten up. Ignoring all of his preferred routine, Legato hurries out to find him.

"Knives! My powers have returned!" Well, not all the way but he's not worried about their Stars-imposed limits right now.

@plantfell

[deathpacito]

"People With Dark Pasts Can't Shut Up"

It’s been a pretty disorientating 24 hours away from No Man’s Land for the first time in his entire life. Free money and a place to live? You can’t even call this a vacation-- and we’re not even going to AT ALL talk about the names he recognizes on his phone contacts. That’s for another day. We’re talking about this day, right now.

Livio’s checked out, and hopefully sleeping peacefully and crying into his mental pillow or something. Razlo’s on the hunt, on the prowl. It’s been awhile since he’s been able to just let loose and do this. And for a purpose that isn’t attached to his leash, too. 

Hunting through dark streets, the utter fright of his prey palpable in the air-- cornering them at a dead end. 

Razlo grins, all teeth and no charm.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Spork. Thought you were dead. Color me surprised I get to do that to you again.”

Millions Knives is going to have a Not Great day. Where’s baby brother when you need him?

@plantfell​

[blankticket]

@plantfell:

Messages timestamped later in the evening.

[txt] Have you heard from Legato today?

[txt] He went to the store and hasn't come home and won't respond to any of my messages or calls. If he's with you, that's fine. I'm just worried. This isn't like him.

The string of messages are cause for immediate stomach-flopping concern. It's a mercy that it's a lot easier appearing put-together over text—besides, with a friend's life possibly being at stake, Vash could set his feelings aside for later.

[text]: No, I haven't, and no, he's not here. [text]: Do you need me to go out and search with you?

Vash is already on the move to gear himself up anyway, immediately tossing his phone onto his bed after sending the message. His mind's busied. They're all housed in the same Ward, walking to the same places... Surely walking the typical route would return some clues, even with the sun being out.

[allcapsisola]

SAVE YOU? I GAVE YOU A NEW CAGE, AND YOU PAINTED IT GOLD.

-   Knives Millions ( @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.

[lost13th]

Being alive brought about a host of complicated feelings.

But what was not overly complicated was the phone in her hands and the name that her thumb hovered over. A name that brought relief - and concern - to her now uncertain situation.

How to approach - while she typically carried herself with an air of confidence, even in front of Knives himself, she also knew she had most certainly failed on her part, given her presence here, and the tight feeling in her chest. Not quite pain, but a new host of scar tissue that had not been there previously.

And the memory of that moment. Her last memory before waking on the platform.

She presses the button to CALL, and the line rings on the other side.

Waiting, she presses the phone to her ear, exhaling before the other line picks up. Normal, is what she has to return to.

"I know I typically receive calls, but considering this is a special situation, I think we can make an exception."

@plantfell