Rating the TriStamp Designs based on Suitability for Desert Travel
So, to give this post some context, in my character design class from two semesters ago, it was a super big thing for our professor that characters were dressed to the environment, ie hot weather causing folks to wear short-sleeved clothes, or combat focused characters dressing based on their style of combat and mobility requirements. I was doing some sketches yesterday and realized, man, some of them are actually fucked when it comes to the environment itself. And...well, here's my hotcakes.
Zazzie the Beast: 9/10
Clothing is the loosest out of the group, with the lightest over all colors. The outfit has not just one but two possible ways to cover the face, such as the mask and that scarf thingie. The main reason I'm marking the fit is for the pants, which would give them one weird sunburn. They'd also need more warmth once the suns go down.
Meryl: 8/10
Loose fitting and light clothing is a huge plus. She also has layers, allowing her to adjust better as nightfall hits. However, she has almost no face and eye protection, which would leave her with a nasty case of windburn.
Knives: 7/10
Tight fitting clothes trap the sweat against your skin, increasing the odds of overheating. His feet are also bare, so you know good and well that they're going to get roasted and burnt by the hot sand, causing blisters at best. However, having the cloak could, in theory, keep him cool during the day, and its looseness should allow for more airflow. Would've been a 6, but I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt when it comes to his skintight suit. Who knows, it could be some real damn breathable fabric.
Roberto: 7/10
Light colors, layer potential. He's doing really well in terms of clothing. However, a suit coat would absolutely be too heavy for day wear. Also, he doesn't have any sort of face, eye or ear protection, so fighting the sand would be difficult.
Legato: 7/ 10
Same thought process here as Roberto. His clothing is light on the outer layers, which could help with heat management. However, his under layers are black, which would make him feel a whole lot hotter in the case that he had to remove his jacket, which he probably will need to, because it looks thick as hell. No facial protection.
Wolfwood: 6/10
Dark clothes, not good. But they're at least pretty loose and unbuttoned quite a bit. He has eye protection in the form of sunglasses, which would help with both sand and UV protection. Loafers might be an issue, though. If he can't keep the sand out of them, he could end up with some vile blisters.
Vash: 4/10
Has eye protection. It doesn't look like it would block much sunlight, but it would help for the sand, so that's a massive boost. However, tell me that jacket isn't going to be hot as hell out there. I dare you. He's also wearing very tight-fitting black clothing, which is not going to work out too well for him. He also runs the issue of his prosthetic. There isn't any way for him to keep sand out of the joints, which will, after some time, render his prosthetic unusable or extremely uncomfortable. His undercut gives him an extra point, though, because it'd help with the weight of hair and help keep his head cool.
Livio: 3/10
Dark clothes, not very lose. No eye protection. He'd be absolutely fucked. Keeping his hair out of his eyes will provide a slight advantage when it comes to seeing things, but it's completely irrelevant when compared to the horrible sun exhaustion this poor man is going to face. And he's got a turtle neck so he's just going to have more sweat trapped close to his body with nowhere for all of that to go. Dehydration and heat management would be a horrible issue for him, besides the fact that the metal thing on his face would heat up from the sunlight and begin to scorch his skin or even blind him. His outfit when he was young would've been fantastic, if his shorts were longer, but, yknow, three layers of black suits.... Poor dude. Someone get this man a kool-aid pouch.
Overview: Vash doesn't return to the hotel room after an argument between him and Wolfwood. Wolfwood, having trouble suppressing his feelings for Vash, runs out into the night in the hopes of finding him and reconnecting with his friend/crush/unofficial partner.
Note: This is the first time I've actually written these two outside of roleplays so, please be gentle. I do accept constructive criticism though! I gotta learn somehow! :P I'm also writing this with a massive gash across my hand, and so, I apologize for typos. I have a feeling I missed some, but, at this point, I've decided to say "screw it, no beta, we die like men."
Enjoy!
A light in the room, it was you who was standing there; tried it was true as your glance met my stare. But your heart drifted off, like the land split by sea. I tried to go, to follow, to kneel down at your feet.
It was a soft sort of silence that haunted the empty hotel room that Wolfwood had called his own for the past few weeks. Soft, but miserable, even. The air was still, not even punctuated by the soft, turning of the pages of whatever book Meryl was most interested in at the time, nor the drunken ramblings of Roberto that slipped in through the cracks of the doors once the suns went down.
Vash's box of donuts still rested exactly where they'd left them, some of his dirty clothes still in a heap on the floor. Nicholas eyed them with a solemn sigh, his cracked, dry lips falling into a weak frown. Oh, how he wished things could be different. He'd endure the experiments for just a while longer if it meant he could've stuck to Vash's ideals and gotten everyone out of there safely. He'd tried to uphold them for so long, but at the very last moment, instinct took hold. A lapse of judgement took over Nicholas' mind as he shot to kill, no, shot to protect.
They'd fought like this before, with Rollo, but it was far different now. Vash hadn't come home.
I'll run, I'll run
I'll run run to you
I'll run, I'll run
I'll run run to you
Wolfwood wanted to be stubborn, but still, sitting in this damn hotel room was killing him. Where had Vash ran off too? Why had he let Vash run off so easily? And why did he care so much? In a word like theirs, love was meaningless; love couldn't stop a bullet— it could only change who endured the pain. Besides, Vash, of all people, knew how dangerous No Man's Land could be; he should know that instincts are hard to control, especially when your friends' lives were at stake. Screw ideals, a foul memory could be replaced. A life could not.
I've been settling scores. I've been fighting so long, but I've lost your war, and our kingdom is gone. How shall I win back your heart which was mine? I have broken bones and tattered clothes. I've run out of time.
Throwing his loafers on, Wolfwood barreled his way out the hotel room, only just barely remembering to grab the key on his way out. "Damn it, Needle Noggin! Don'cha know what the buddy system is?" He grumbled to himself as he practically shoved his way to the outskirts of town. His shirt was unbuttoned, the shadows on his face painted so sleepily onto his skin. He was exhausted, but he didn't care. He wouldn't care, not until Vash was safe.
Who was he to be so selfish? Vash was his own man, and quite frankly, he had every right to be mad at him. Still, frustration and sorrow burned a hole in Wolfwood's stone-cold heart. Did he feel a special way for the blond? Perhaps a little more than he wanted to admit. But there was no way that his feelings alone would ever be strong enough to protect the Stampede, if the Stampede even needed his help to begin with. In a way, he hoped that maybe Vash really did need him, even if only to carry a conversation in the slow moments between towns. It'd make the bullet wounds and the bitter serum worth it millions of times over.
I'll run, I'll run
I'll run run to you
I'll run, I'll run
I'll run run to you, oh
The moment Wolfwood's eyes fell upon the man he so desperately searched for, relief washed over him, sloppy and unreasonably heavy. He couldn't help but feel ridiculous as the smile crept it's way onto his face, and so, without a word, he climbed up onto the rock beside him, sitting down and gazing up at the night sky with him.
Vash broke the silence, drawing into himself anxiously. He called his friend's name sl softly, it almost sounded like the wind. "Wolfwood..."
"Needl-...." Nicholas froze, clearing his throat before responding with a hint of resolve. "Vash."
"You didn't have to come out here. I'll be fine." The blond smiled, though Wolfwood could see right through it.
"Of course I had to. Who else is going to keep you out of trouble, huh?" He nudged Vash with his elbow, earning a quiet chuckle. No matter how small it was, it was still a victory.
I will break down the gates of heaven. A thousand angels stand waiting for me.
"Look, Needle Noggin... I'm sorry, okay? It wasn't intentional."
"I know it wasn't..."
"I know you know, but... You're thinking it's your fault. That you're some sort of horrible person for not being able to save them all. It's not your responsibility to be some hero all the time, yknow?"
Vash only hummed out in response.
Wolfwood continued. "I'm making it my responsibility to protect you. I'm nothing like god, but I'll damn sure break down the pearly gates if I've gotta. Got it though your thick skull? I'm not gonna just let some crook shoot you or our little group."
Ooh, take my heart, and I'll lay down my weapons. Break my shackles to set me free.
"You, and the rest of our little band of idiots, are far too important to me. I'm not just going to let you die, no matter how many times you try to convince yourself that you deserve the pain you've been given."
"Wolfwood, you don't-"
I'll run run to you
"I know I don't have to. Just, shut your pretty little lips and listen to me, okay? I'm only saying this once, so you better catch it now. You're an idiot, but you're our idiot. In some other life, maybe we could just sit around and do taxes, or whatever townspeople do. But in this life, I'm standing by your side, even if it gets your panties in a bunch. You've shown this man of god that faith still exists. It's about damn time I pay it back, got it?"
Vash nodded his head, the two sitting in a comfortable, yet solemn sadness.
I'll run, I'll run
I'll run run to you
"Do you really mean it...?" Vash whispered, his voice weak as his eyes welled up with tears that refused to spill.
This post is mostly going to be backstory things and how she met everyone. Gonna hold back on some details for the sake of spicy posts, so if something is worded vaguely, it's likely why.
Info begins below the cut.
Tag list: @ceyonicember @mismatchedesox
Ask to be added or removed <3
Please note that this post will contain: haircutting as a trauma response, swearing, and naybe also spoilers? A bit of angsty thought processes (courtesy of a traumatized Korsa), mentions of injury and plant death, survivors guilt, and maybe ptsd
Before the incident
Tucked away in a little city lost to time, was a bar known as the Amber Moon. Nobody really knew who owned the place, but it took off like fire in a dry field.
Korsa has been there since the beginning; back then, she was the embodiment of feminine charm, her hair cascading to her hips as she showed off suggestive yet elegant fits. She had a preference for corsets and backless tops.
Besides her looks, though, patrons noticed that the woman only seemed to exist in the bar, rarely interacting with anyone but a very, very select few, while on her breaks. She was fully devoted to the art of performance, and so, she prided herself in building a mysterious persona.
Back then, if she liked a customer, she'd give them a single request. Once you used it, you never got another...unless she really liked you. Wolfwood got 4 requests.
After several years, regulars became pretty comfortable with her, and she to them. Her alure was undeniable, bringing traveling groups to the bar just to see if the rumors were true...and they were. She had men and woman wrapped around her finger. It was but a game to her then.
In reality, she had grown rather annoyed by the people around her, who exhausted their plant regularly. They'd managed to push the plants limits far longer than anyone else by following big pushes with cool down periods, and, quite frankly, this pissed her off to all hell.
She started sneaking in to visit the plant, singing her songs in the hopes of soothing her pain in any way that the woman could. The plant never responded, but Korsa could see the plant relax, and so, she regarded the being as her friend.
Still, her biggest weakness was ignorance and her cockiness. She'd always gotten her way with little issues, so she didn't know how to fight for it. Everything always turned out okay, no matter how reckless. Her luck wouldn't last long.
After The Incident
Survivors guilt is a hell of a thing. The first thing Korsa did when she came to was cry, far longer than her body should have allowed her. Seeing her reflection in the shards of glass ruined her. It only got worse when the Amber and blue glows caught the liquid, making it, and her own blood, shimmer with light.
The second thing she did was take that very glass to slice her hair from her head, sort of like that scene in Mulan, but fueled by her warping self-image. She didn't see herself as the performer she once was. She saw herself as a cursed wanderer with no choice but to repent for failing to save a life.
She couldn't bear to watch the town fall apart after the death of the plant, so she simply left. She didn't take anything she owned besides her money. She didn't think she deserved any memory of her past life, not after she damned not only a plant but her whole town too.
She had to learn to fight purely from desperation, leading to countless injuries and near death encounters, but it would seem that, as her adrenaline would surge, she'd heal far faster than before. It was nowhere near the healing factor of a plant or when using the restorative serum, but she wasn't aware of either at the time, so it still shocked her.
She also realized that she was beginning to feel the next attacks coming, shrugging them off as learning when they were anything but.
The next few days, she'd begin to believe she was hallucinating, but she hadn't found herself feeling hungry or thirsty, so surely, something was wrong. Even after she'd taken care of her needs, visions of strangers began to haunt her mind. It took her a month to realize they were visions.
Upon reaching the next city, Korsa promptly bought a wooden mask. It was cheap, with only one eye hole, and completely devoid of detail, but it served its purpose. Even after all her time wandering, she couldn't bear to look at herself. She also got herself a cloak to hide the blue markings that had slowly begun to crawl from her bullet scar, to her face and arms.
She visited plants along the way, realizing her presence seemed to have an effect on the production capabilities of the plants. She could also sense the emotions of the plants, and so, she refused to ever step foot before one ever again, unless she absolutely had to.
Once again, survivors guilt.
Meeting Wolfwood
Originally, she'd met Wolfwood at the Amber Moon. She'd see him around and appreciated the way he let loose at her music. She gave him one request on the night they met, only to give him another each time he visited the Amber Moon. She would be gone by the time he visited for the fifth time.
It took some time for them to find each other again. Wolfwood was checking up on the plants, purely out of a hunch, after he found the town almost desolate. The Amber Moon was nearly empty, no music playing as the last few wanderers drank away their sorrows.
Korsa was standing over the wreckage, the glass still in her hands after slicing away her hair as a trauma response. Wolfwood patched up her wounds and brought her with him to the next city.
The two of them became rather close as they traveled, their one trip becoming four months' worth. She knew him well, able to read him easily, even without the use of her abilities.
They'd have an altercation that drew them even closer after their third month of traveling together. Neither of them can discuss it without getting emotional. Wolfwood still remembers the fear and guilt from the ordeal, whereas Korsa has been bombarded by it so frequently, its merely a dull ache.
Despite having known her before she wore the mask, he adverts his gaze out of respect for her, only looking at her when she initiates it.
Meeting the rest of the group
She knew Wolfwood was gonna get hit by the car, but no! He wouldn't believe her.
Why would he believe the fortune teller who has literally never been wrong before? Surely that made too much sense.
"There aren't any cars out here, only sand."
"Suit yourself then. I'm not going to take care of your injuries when it happens."
"Whatever, Oracle."
Wolfwood gets hit by the damn car. Korsa scoffs and says she told him so.
Meryl is absolutely baffled by the fact Korsa doesn't appear to care, but in reality, she knows Wolfwood is going to be fine, so she chooses not to waste her energy fussing.
Roberto is put off by the fact that Korsa already knows everyone's name. Wolfwood has to do the explaining for her. Only after that's settled does Roberto find some humor in the situation. A fortune teller and an undertaker traveling together seems like prime scumbag scammer material.
Vash insists they're good, though. He goes on about Wolfwoods eyes. He tries to think of something nice to say about Korsa, but she scares him a little bit. There's something about her presence that he can't shake. He covers it up by saying that if Wolfwood trusts her, so does he.
As time passes, Korsa realizes that her presence also affects Vash, so she figures him out near instantly. The problem is, apparently, he can see in on her inner world too, which pisses her off. Vash doesn't think too much about it, unlike Wolfwood. Korsa can't help but feel like a hypocrite for demanding that he stop looking in on her when she can't control her own abilities and is constantly looking in on everyone all the time.
After time passes, Korsa warms up to the group, especially Meryl. Korsa admits that she used to write music way back when, and so, she had quite a lot of poetry hidden away in her head. The two talk about it when there's no one around.
Besides Wolfwood, Meryl is the first to see Korsa unmasked. Next is Roberto, then Knives (after combat with him left that huge gash up her mask), then Vash, as he comes to help a very overwhelmed and mostly blinded Korsa.
She insists she doesn't care about them, but she's constantly using her abilities to predict the best outcome of any plan they come up with. She's like a mother bear, don't touch her group, or she'll unleash hellfire upon you.
Korsa loves them all far more than she wants to admit, letting them use her as a pillow while she takes the night watch shift. Perhaps becoming the Guardian isn't all too bad.
The group catches on very fast and starts to ask for Korsa's opinions on plans more often, which always goes well. They also always agree with her when she bets, because they know she's going to win. Korsa fucks with them and bets wrong, just to tease them all, but they win back what they lost pretty easily.
Korsa isn't allowed to make bets about the group anymore because she always wins. It took the group an embarrassingly long time to come up with this rule.
Posted early because @vashmybbg posted "please" in all caps, and y'know what, we ballin. <3
Overview: Korsa had always been so closed off when it came to her inner world, especially when it came to showing affection. She sets that all aside after seeing her travel partner in such a weak state.
Content Warnings: Mentions of injury and plant death, maybe mild spoilers, survivors guilt.
Pairings: OC x Wolfwood (more platonic than romantic)
Note: I've barely written Wolfwood, so he might be a bit ooc. I apologize in advance.-
Either way, the poll I put out is overwhelmingly in support of this fic, so hold on to your asses, it's self-indulgent hurt/comfort time.
Hotel rooms were always stuffy and miserable. Luxury wasn't something that people like them could afford, and so, why bother toiling over what they couldn't have. Having company filled the void a little bit anyway, even if Nicholas' choice of companionship was perhaps a particularly strange one. He knew so little about someone who knew so much about him, but he figured painful memories best not come uncovered. Not in an empty hotel room, at least— that was likely best saved for the bar.
Quite frankly, Nicholas wasn't feeling up for it anyway. Dropping his Punisher by the door, along with his bags, he hadn't even taken his shoes off before throwing himself over the edge of one of the beds. He took his glasses off, tossing them to the counter with reckless abandon. A low groan of defeat escaped him, his shoulder shaking as he drew in an uneven breath that caught deep within his throat.
Korsa followed not too far behind, though her dissatisfaction was far less clear. She took the time to put her things away, stowing all her blades in the bedside drawer. Her mask hid much of her emotions, making it near impossible for Wolfwood to read her, but even she had her tells. Her shoulders were tense, and her jaw was clenched as she sat down with her back towards him, taking off her mask to rub the bridge of her nose.
"How are you holding up?" She asked quietly, staring down at her hands as she spoke to the man behind her, who averted his gaze out of respect.
Grunting, he sat up, finally kicking off his loafers. "Could be better."
"Mm... no kidding." Putting her mask back on, she turned her gaze to the man, watching as his shoulders heaved, his breaths deeper and slower than they should have been. Was he...trying not to cry? Without a second thought, she used her gifts on him, as if only to confirm his suspicions.
"You're thinking about Livio, aren't you...? Do you feel guilty, Wolfwood?" She finally asked, her tone only just barely seeming to care. It was perhaps the most emotion she'd shown since they met.
"Who wouldn't?... I should've gotten him out of there, or this strength means nothing."
Getting up, the woman sat on the foot of his bed, a soft sigh escaping her lips. "You know that isn't true. Your strength allows you to fight another day, so you can try again, and again, and again. So you can be stubborn until the day you finally succeed."
Wolfwood's eyes widened, his brow quirking up at her softness. "What did you do with Korsa?"
"Oh, shut it, Punisher. I mean it."
"Yeah, sure you do." He hadn't meant to sound so cruel, or so harsh. The words came out without thought or any sort of intention.
"Of course I do." She clapped back, her tone meeting his harshness with firmness. "You know damn well I can see your past. Besides..." Her body tensed. "I know the feeling more than you think. Only, I wasn't so lucky, you still have a chance to save them. I don't."
"Korsa?"
"You know the ghost town where we met? The plant there was shot. I tried to take the bullet, but it pierced clean through my shoulder, through the glass, and into her heart. And worst of all, they still call me the fucking Guardian." She scoffed, taking off her mask. Wolfwood tried to look away, but her gaze met his and practically trapped him there. "So trust me when I say you have a chance. And don't you waste it, either. I'm not going to let you screw up like I did, got it, Nicholas?"
"Y... Yeah." He stammered out, shocked, and quite possibly even baffled. Korsa's actions rendered him nearly speechless. Was this really the woman he'd traveled with for the past four months? And, of all names she'd ever called him, she chose his true name. In a way he couldn't quite expect, he felt touched. "So you'll be my Guardian, is what you're saying?"
Her eyes widened before finally softening, the sternness of her gaze replaced with amusement. "Y'know what. Sure. I can do that. I'll be your guardian until you can be his."
"Even if it takes a long time?"
Her shoulders shook as she held back a laugh, her hand gently placed over his. "Screw it. I'll be here till the end."
Every day, I get closer to becoming a HL Ominis blog.
As a pianist and poet, I feel like the information I hold in this brain of mine could be a dangerous thing to the Fandom, and I think I like it like that.
“oh.” suddenly, as his gaze sweeps over the weather-worn box; idly taking note of the care in which she held them, he’s less sure about this. it wasn’t that he wasn’t curious about the future, & the possibilities it held. it just seemed wrong, to ask for insight when he knows he’d more than likely get to witness it first hand, given time. absently, vash finds himself worrying away at his bottom lip with his teeth. “okay, so, something that i want to know, right?”
would it be considered an invasion of privacy to have this woman peek at his friend’s futures instead? it felt wrong, on an intimate level, to focus on them just because he wanted to ensure that they’d be content & prosperous wherever life ultimately ended up taking them.
maybe that was selfish?
no, it was definitely selfish.
listlessly, vash starts drumming his fingers against the cusp of his knee. so, therein lies the problem, he wasn’t very curious when it came to himself; he’s always taken what he could get, & was happy to be & let be, but objectively speaking, it might just be the easiest focal point for this endeavor. “okay, i'm ready. i guess i'll choose the future?” it’s said with an accompanying nod though the tone itself was more hesitant.
