#punisheye.

[blankticket]

@punisheye

When Vash pulls his finger away from it, he notes where the doorbell's got its paint chipped. Either this house had been around for long enough, or it's seen many visitors.

"Wolfwood?" This time, he's calling out in a volume just louder than his speaking volume—quiet to begin with. But something tells Vash it's more about having made the effort, here.

He's not left to wait for long. The Plant's holding a few things at chest-height with his prosthetic arm; an opaque container with tape labeled over the top, and a very familiar-looking stuffed toy resting atop it.

Otherwise, he looks just about the same from a month and some change ago.

"...Hello." Despite the greeting, he looks more solemn than anything. "Wanted to hand a few things over to you, if that's okay."

[blankticket]

@punisheye

The visitor at Wolfwood's front door bears a striking resemblance to a family friend—nearly identical, if it weren't for the difference in hairstyle and the sure way that he carried himself.

Pulling back his knuckles from knocking on the door, the man glances at the phone screen in his other hand to verify that he is, in fact, right where he wants to be.

Calling out his name felt unnecessary, so instead Vash stands there silent and alone as he waits, fidgeting no further.

He isn't carrying over any pizza or pastry boxes, nor a giant sad deer plushie; instead of any sort of gift, he's here for a very specific retrieval of an item.

The marksman's sight snaps toward the doorknob right as it turns.