tell me, is there anywhere left to run in this world?

"They stretch across the entirety of the planet." It's not quite an answer, but one all the same. "So if you ever needed a way to get somewhere undetected it's useful."

He can understand not liking caves after that though. He still doesn't like–well. A slow exhale, thinking about what else lies beneath the sands of this shitty planet. "The ships that sunk into the sands inevitably end up here."

#[cadence of the damned; main]#[diminuendo al niente; millionsnife]

"I see," Midvalley responds. His hand stops moving through Knives's hair, instead remaining in place for the Plant to butt into. He's not unlike a cat in this way. They had talked about using the tunnels to escape if the law ever caught up to either of them, but it would also be nice to use them for broader travel. They can stay out of the sun that way.

...It'd still involve iles and iles of cavern traversing, however; Midvalley's pretty sure he wouldn't be able to catch a wink of sleep with the looming thread of a cave in right above his head.

"Feeling nostalgic?"

"Just confirming it." He tilts his head slightly further into the man's hand, humming low. It's an almost eerie sound, very much like the sound of a navigating worm as it bounces off the cavern walls.

"Can probably navigate the tunnels with it." Learn the landmarks, such as they were.

#[cadence of the damned; main]#[diminuendo al niente; millionsnife]

"Probably," he picks up on the sound, humming to match it as though he's practicing. "What's there to find in these tunnels other than water and worms though?"

While the prospect of exploring is intriguing, he'd like for there to be a promise of... something. Something, some reason to do it. He supposes just wandering around at all is a miracle, considering.

"Can't say I'm a fan of caves, especially after what happened between me and Punisher. Not sure the Beast would appreciate it either."

"Nothing." It's not entirely a lie; there really isn't something wrong so much as just being lost in thoughts. Memories, maybe. "Being down here just makes it easier to remember things I'd rather not." But they'd come here for a reason.

Mainly that he'd wanted to show off the lakes but also for other reasons.

"Does your sound work for echolocation?"

#[diminuendo al niente; millionsnife]#[cadence of the damned; main]

"Yeah, it does." Hearing him say it out loud makes Midvalley feel weird about it, like it's some animalistic trait or something. "Kinda weird, right?"

With the right pitch, he can create a sound inaudible to most any human but audible to him (and probably Knives, now that he thinks about it). The sound waves—if he listens carefully—hit any objects and allow him a kind of... detection method.

"Thought you knew that already."

He leans into the touch, allowing the contact easily enough. "Probably." Zazie had told him once that most of the underground lakes were deeper than worms could swim, but hadn't exactly explained how far a worm could swim.

So, effectively useless information.

"You're probably dense enough to sink immediately."

#[diminuendo al niente; millionsnife]#[cadence of the damned; main]

"Har har," the musician offers little more than a sarcastic laugh at the comment, "I'm not the one made of metal, or whatever."

Is Knives made of metal? No, absolutely not. In fact, as a Plant, he could probably live in the water just fine.

Midvalley's skilled fingers expand and contract, his nailbeds dig into Knives's inky scalp idly. His hair isn't soft by any means, but the strands still feel nice against the pads of his fingers.

"I am dense though. Mostly because I'm gonna ask," he pauses, then looks down at the man sprawled out next to him, "What's eatin' at you?"

goldendivinewrath

@thathollowsound

The only thing that Vash can do initially is make an affronted squawk. He doesn't expect to get yelled at! (Something which he would, of course, be considering at least a possibility if he were fully sober, but that steamer took off across the sands some time ago and he's been steadily fueling it since.) And he doesn't expect good points to be made, and to get through to him while also tugging him away from a state that could be named "more than pleasantly tipsy". Rude!

He of course squawks again in the middle of it all when the alcohol is removed from his person. Double rude! He could technically reach for it, grab it back, but he knows he might use too much speed or force and pouts extra hard at having to just let it go. He's entirely distracted from his righteous offense by how Midvalley changes. Well, no, not entirely, that's probably the wrong word, but things-- Drop. Slide away, maybe? It's too difficult to get his mind around the concept of better words and phrases, so he just witnesses. Watches, listens, and curls into himself just a little when all of these very good points are swimming around in his head along with everything else.

"I--" Yeah, there's no time to apologize or to take action, really. Vash frowns at the alcohol that he won't be drinking disappearing all too quickly, but it gives him time for the words to settle in. Attaching to thoughts. And emotions. Typical, right? Only thinking of himself, not really taking into account that he's not the only one nervous. And it is nervousness, he's pretty sure. Even so, for a human, Midvalley's doing an awful lot more drinking an awful lot faster than he started out doing, and maybe that's... a concern.

Another very easily distracted thought as he catches the offered bottle with a smile, all with the ease of someone who isn't also ever so slightly weaving back and forth. He opens the bottle easily with his prosthetic hand, then-- Laughs. Honest and quiet and mostly to himself, but his gaze isn't completely unfocused. He's not sober by any stretch, but drunkenness just... works differently for Plants, he supposes. Or for him, anyway. "More than this." Obvious answer, but he's not as sure as he used to be. "Been a long time since I-- Tried." He leaves the rest up to the imagination, or hopefully left behind to be forgotten somewhere.

Vash finally takes a swig and winces. Definitely not drunk enough to ignore the taste. That was usually a signal to keep going, but at the moment his eyes settle on his cohort. Or alibi, depending. "This's kinda nice." He doesn't really expect the words himself, looking confused for a moment as he works through the idea and settles back on a smile that's as piercing as it is soft. "'Slike we're bonding, or... something." A little more or something, probably, but he does feel like he's witnessed something rarely shown to others. It's a precious thing regardless of circumstances.

"Sorry. By the way. Didn't know you'd--" The nonsense gesture made with his hand only sloshes a little of the booze around, at least.

#[hope on the high note; stampede]#[judgement binds all we hold to a memory of scorn; goldendivinewrath]#// imagining this man drinking raw fucking vodka takes me back to college but also makes me want to die a little #// why did conrad make some freaks why is he like this #// anyway as soon as that hits him he's gonna be... incredibly inebriated #// also i'm imagining that whatever conrad did was mostly just some kind of operation that could be done in one surgery #// as opposed to the eom boys that are just. lab experiments.#// i keep eom and knives's crew separated in my head like the eom is a contract agency or something idk that's probably not how it works bu #// pardon my yapping

@goldendivinewrath

Midvalley raises an eyebrow as he cracks his new bottle open. He can't hide the slight sway that hits him all at once from chugging what was left in Vash's old bottle—whatever it was definitely was not meant to be consumed in more than shot-sized portions. Whatever this is isn't meant to be consumed in anything larger than shots. He should turn back now; God knows Knives will be pissed when he sees him sloshed with his brother.

But...

"Cheers," the hornist raises the bottle before taking a long swig of the cheap alcohol inside. Vodka, maybe? It burns like hell. Then again, he's not really entirely human, so it takes him a little longer to get drunk than most people. Not as freakish as... Wolfwood... (it's still weird), but every assassin in Knives's collection has a little something-something to boost their innate abilities (and to allow them to take more bullets).

He scoffs at the gesture, "Didn't know I'd what? Have vices? Unlike your boy toy, I'm not a holy man. That's the..." Midvalley makes a vague waving gesture with the bottle as he wraps his legs around the back of a chair that he brings over, "The Eye of Michael's whole thing. I'm about as far from holy as you get, heh."

Sitting backwards on the chair now, he takes another long drink out of the bottle, hoping to expedite his loss of sobriety more than he already is.

"Only thing missin' is the smokin'," Midvalley waggles a finger, shaking his head 'no', "Need my lungs in-tact. No lungs, no music. No music, no... uh..."

No murder? No... killing? Uh...

"No music, and I'm missing my weapon, essentially," the answer is good enough for him. He's not sure why he's bothering to go into any of this, why should Vash care about his vices, anyway? Why should he care about him at all? Bonding. Midvalley mentally rolls his eyes at the idea. When was the last time he bonded with anyone? People like him don't have friends, and when they do, they end up like his old band did.

Another swig—thoughtful this time.

God, he's drinking too fast. Sue him for being anxious about betraying his boss and having a big meeting with the people who were his enemies. Vash's smile and icy-hot gaze doesn't help with any of that anxiety. All of this attention is making his skin prickle.

He makes eye contact for maybe three seconds before breaking it, dodging his glance to the side.

"Yeah, I guess it's nice havin' a conversation with you that doesn't feel like a lesson," he mulls over his words, reminiscing on each lecture he's given the blond thus far, "M'not really a..."

Golden eyes roll up, then to the other side as he thinks of a word suitable for this. His mouth slants as he muses, the corner of his mouth tense with thought.

"Not really a friend kinda guy. Moreofa solo act. But ya caught me, and now I'm stuck workin' with ya, so I may as well get to know ya some more. Punisher too."

A huff of frustration.

"Wolfwood."

Every single word coming through those lips rubs him the wrong way and he can’t not react. The truth grates, and it’s all a matter of phrasing. Wolfwood finds his jaw clenched so tightly that he has to release a breath to force himself to relax. Again.

Lying to the Guns was a breeze in the past. Now…something feels off.

“You’re damn right about one thing.” Wolfwood palms around beneath the flap of his jacket. His hand retreats with a cigarette between his fingers and a lighter. A flick against the wheel briefly illuminates his face and comforting worm spice fills his lungs. “I make for a damn shitty priest.”

Blood has soaked his clothes, his hands, his soul. He can’t go back to them and to the way things were. But he can be useful.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it sounds an awful lot like yer complainin’.” Wolfwood arches a brow. It wouldn’t do to say something foolish, now would it? He can’t afford such a mistake and he suspects this Gung Ho Gun can’t either.

With the main attraction long since departed, conversations around the bar have drawn to a low murmur. It’s a classier venue than he would have cared for normally, but circumstances drew him in.

A waiter zeroes in on them, pulled towards the table like a hunter drawn to wounded prey. With prim posture and a mildly pointed finger, the man directs the table occupants’ attention to the lit cigarette presently dangling from the corner of Nicholas’s mouth.

“Pardon me, sirs, we do not allow smoking in this establishment. I’ll have to ask you to put that out or leave.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get your nice uniform in a wrinkle.” Wolfwood leans forward and stubs out his cigarette in his empty glass, much to the obvious distaste of their waiter and his wrinkled nose.

Clearing his throat, the waiter plucks the glass off the tabletop and gestures vaguely at the liquor counter. “Thank you kindly. Would you…Be interested in a new glass, perhaps?”

“Nah, I was just leavin’. You can put my drink on this guy’s tab while you're at it.”

#[cadence of the damned; main]#wolfwoocl

"Oh for fuck's sake—"

Midvalley rolls his eyes at the way Chapel shoves the drink that he invited him to onto his fucking tab. The waiter slides the Player a sidelong glance, as though asking for confirmation—because, wow, the employees of the establishment know who their damn performers are—and he, begrudgingly, gives him a wave of affirmation. He made more money than he'd expected to tonight, so he may as well buy his dear friend a stupid drink.

"You're a shit date, Chapel," Midvalley grumbles as the waiter walks away, then takes a final swig from his glass and eyes the good third of the remaining bottle. He pours himself another drink. Squinting at the barely smoked cigarette in the cup, Player also pours a bit of liquor on it with intent to ruin it.

When he sets the bottle down, he relaxes back into the seat, swirling the liquid in his glass with a pensive, distant frown.

"What's it matter if I am complainin'? You see our coworkers? I think you're the only other sane one. Well, the lady with the..." Midvalley makes a vague gesture in front of his eye, "...demon eye thing might've been worth talkin' to, but she didn't exactly seem like a people person. Always disappearin' before anyone can approach her. Guess I can't blame her, not that it matters now that she's in the ground."

He sighs and runs a hand through his loose bangs, "There's at least two of 'em that have death wishes, includin' that honorable sword guy. Seriously! Am I a joke to them, or what?"

It's a clear cover-up, replacement complaint for the original, intended complaint.

"You're tellin' me that this group of idiots is supposed to kill a literal natural disaster? Give me a break. They're all store-bought evil villains."

Yeah. It's almost like...

Realization sparks behind his eyes. Shit.

The coin burns a hole in his pocket suddenly. That blue-haired freak—

Glass crackles in his hand, not quite breaking, but causing a surface-level fault to appear.

He's such a fucking idiot.

The tone of his voice switches to more of a growl again, "You're headed out, yeah? Why are you different?" He looks around the establishment. It's too quiet here now, they could be heard, and there are many eyes and ears that check in on their employees. Now his curiosity is piqued, and his subject is about to leave.

"I'm not done talkin' to you," Player sets the glass down and squints at Chapel with darkened eyes, "You know somethin' don't you?"

Let people believe what they want to believe. People can believe what they want and be wrong their whole damn lives on one side or the other. What they think doesn’t matter. If it did matter, he doesn’t care. Pretty shitty as far as coping mantras go, but it’s his. So he ignores this particular slight because it’s the one he’s had to live with the longest.

Trading entendres is a much better alternative to starting a fight in the middle of the club because he didn’t feel like letting Midvalley make a convenient pin cushion out of his ego. Undeniably, Nicholas would find resetting that refined nose with his fist so immensely satisfying.

“Do you now?” Sultry innocence drips from his words as he pulls his fingertips around the contours of his lips with deliberate care and a smoldering stare. “Is this musician the sorta guy who likes to work with his hands or his mouth?”

The exchange is fun while it lasts.

“Yeah, livin’ and makin’ one are real tough nowadays.” Sympathy without an ounce of sincerity.

Both of them wear a deadly collar, but freedom is only a nice-to-have for Nicholas D. Wolfwood.

“I’m not here because I enjoy the killin’. Don’t get me wrong, Player, I’m damn fuckin’ good at it. But it’s not my craft. If the job needs me to play nice, I play nice. If I need to cave someone’s skull in, I’ll do that too.”

The job.

He almost says the name Vash, and the very real possibility of making such a terrible mistake in front of Midvalley causes a bead of sweat to form at the back of his neck. Sucking against the backs of his teeth, Wolfwood throws himself into the back of his chair and slumps into it to better accentuate the openness of his shirt for his companion’s viewing pleasure.

“We’re ain’t so different, Player. We do what we’re told.”

Wolfwood narrows his eyes.

“Right?”

#[cadence of the damned; main]#wolfwoocl #// sameeeeee i love them

It becomes harder and harder to maintain the double-speak, since the two conversations are on opposite sides of a spectrum, but he has to continue. Unfortunately, Chapel is too damn good at playing cool despite himself. Damn priests. Damn actor. Midvalley is a musician—and he can lie, don't get him wrong—but the moods are hard to flip to and fro.

Still, he finds himself gritting his teeth behind sealed lips, fighting something of a flush that's just from the alcohol—nothing more.

"Why not both? Gotta have the right embouchure and some runs require quick fingers. It's all about precision, baby," he lowers his eyelids and gives Wolfwood a deadly simper of a smile before hushing his volume to something private, "I'm somethin' of a solo prodigy, but I don't mind a duet now and then if they're singin' a pretty enough song."

Perfect timing for the double-talk; someone nearby shuffles away to give them more privacy. Judging by the quick intake of a breath and their rabbiting heartbeat, they were likely looking for companionship for the evening.

Midvalley doesn't break eye contact as he takes an easy sip of his drink. Sweetness sticks to his lips while fire flows down down to his belly. By the end of the sip, he resets to his 'business' persona to continue their real conversation.

"You know, it's funny that you have this... delusion... that you're more than a weapon," his topaz eyes glimmer with grim delight as he chuckles, "We're knives. We're a collection. That's the big man's own words, and he's right. We aren't different, and you need to knock that into your own skull—you're here because you're a killer, killer. That's the only craft that matters, you fake priest."

What he wouldn't give to be his own man again. Though... it might be worth trying to...

No. He'll die. That's certain death. He could die just for thinking it.

His gaze lingers a moment too long to be simple scrutiny. Focus darts to the glass in his hand as he sets it back down on the table with a thought clearly passing through his head.

"We're here to be used. Again, and again, and again—and when we're dull they won't care, they will use us until we break at the handle; they'll sharpen us until we shatter. That's the life we live. We don't have a choice."

His knuckles tighten around his glass. The glare that he originally directed at a scratch in the table shifts suddenly to those shaded eyes.

"You're a killer. I'm a killer. That's all we'll ever be. Even if you're on a long leash, you have teeth and claws and blood on your hands. Nothing. Else."

He's not sure who he's talking to anymore.

goldendivinewrath

@thathollowsound liked for a thing!

"I am not drunk." Vash assures, not at all drunkenly. Extremely sober, actually. So very, painfully well-articulated and carefully controlled in volume and tone and motion that he cannot possibly be sober. But he is going to insist.

Even with a bottle in his organic hand, he still insists with a very meaningful stare. Very meaningful. Trying to distract the other man from actually looking at details. Predictably, it doesn't work. He sighs, defeated, taking another gulp directly from the bottle.

"Okay, I'm nervous. With no reason to be nervous! This is silly! What do I have to be nervous about, right?" The impending event of everyone in one room. At the same time. Interacting. Trying to be civil with each other.

After a second's contemplation, he takes another, much longer drink.

#[hope on the high note; stampede]#[judgement binds all we hold to a memory of scorn; goldendivinewrath]#// okay i had fun with this #// i hope you enjoy midvalley turning on his New Vegas Benny accent because he gets so frustrated

@goldendivinewrath

"Sonofa—Are you fucking kidding me?!" Midvalley thrusts a hand through his hair, ruffling it more than it already was, then puts a thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. Exhaling and opening his eyes again, he snatches the bottle from Vash before speaking his mind, "This important of an event, and you're drunk. I can NOT believe you. What the hell is Wolfwood gonna think of you?!"

He ignores how naturally 'Wolfwood' slipped off his tongue.

"And your brother?! Jee-sus Vash, get your act together, would ya?!" The unmistakable layer of a city-boy accent overtakes his usually masked persona. He sounds like one of those impatient men one would run into on the sidewalk, exaggerating each swear and every other word.

About half of the bottle is left.

Fuck it.

"Didn't even think to invite me, you asshole—I don't wanna be sober for this shit either," the hornist swings the bottle to his face and faces the ceiling, letting gravity pour the alcohol into his maw. Despite how much is left of the mysterious alcohol, he doesn't stop until the bottle is empty. As a musician that specializes in a wind instrument, he knows how to hold his breath. Chugging half a bottle of anything is child's play.

He grabs another bottle and tosses Vash another as well. The empty bottle goes... somewhere.

As if he's rushing alcohol poisoning, Midvalley immediately opens his bottle and takes a large sip. The shitty, cheap booze burns his mouth but he doesn't care—fuck Vash, and fuck this, and fuck being trapped in a room with people that he's supposed to be killing, only for him to change his mind and piss off his boss.

"Fuck this," he flops into a seat, arms outstretched on the armrests, "How many drinks does it take you to get shitfaced, anyway?"

Sensory prompt: Neon lights at 1.30am

⩥ @goldendivinewrath || sensory prompts [OPEN but extremely slow]

Neon lights at 1:30am

It's been a long while since Midvalley has seen the bright lights of a marquee—longer still since he's seen one surrounded by sinful neon signage. Pleasure, gambling, and alcohol are all advertised in one small strip of street with the seductive curvature of smooth tube-like lights; they're represented with a pair of legs, names, dice, cards, a martini glass... truly this city has everything it needs to secure a cozy spot in hell, and the hornist loves it.

He emerges from the small casino a hundred double-dollars richer (which isn't much, but hey at least his drinks are covered), and the marquee glares down at him. It's more radiant than a moon, and washes his face with an unholy pale white. The acts on the board aren't any that he recognizes—which is probably a good thing, actually.

A presence hovers somewhere over his shoulder, he thinks, and it's familiar as always. If it's not one blond, it's the other—both are equally curious with him, but only one would bother coming out this way. Well, he's pretty sure, anyway.

His grip on Sylvia's case tightens as the names and words on the marquee dissolve into just letters and numbers. Midvalley can't help the way he pictures them spelling out a particular name, and perhaps it's a sign of his inflating ego.

"I used to be a headliner," he mutters solemnly, knowing damn well that the presence can hear him. "I think my last show was in JuLai. Had the press buzzing over it, heh."

It's not like him to get sentimental. He's not a 'feelings' kind of guy.

"It was my first and last solo act. Everyone was so confused—it's a shame I couldn't tell 'em what happened to my guys, but even if I did I don't think anyone woulda believed me."

#[hope on the high note; stampede]#[the reviews are in; asks]#[judgement binds all we hold to a memory of scorn; goldendivinewrath]

“Oh, to be tenderized with the broad side of a ruler.” Wolfwood sighs his lament, his eyes still hooded and his grin still razor sharp. Leaning into the debauchery doesn’t make the Player any less right insofar as matters of the flesh. He winks, then tips his head back to polish off the rest of his shot.“Ya know what they say about men and their instruments. Sometimes that’s all ya need.”

The glass clatters back down, empty.

Suspicious isn’t the word he would apply here, even if it’s accurate. Suspicious is only a small part of the picture. The Player’s playful questions and commentary are a means to an end. An undercurrent, an implication of more.

Clandestine, yes, that’s better. A word bolstered by Midvalley’s gradual proximity in exchange for a conversation at volume.

If the rest of the club has fallen quiet, it must be his imagination.

Midvalley earns his attention fully. Completely. Right for the throat. The table only barely trembles beneath the tension placed upon it by the flat of his palm as it wraps around the underside as he meets the Player at an opposing angle from across the table. Wolfhood exhales, willing away the rigidity of his own jaw.

Why does the truth sound so much like an accusation? Why does it bother him to hear it? Midvalley was right, of course. If not him, then someone else. There was no shortage of souls on this planet who deserved judgment. No shortage of megalomaniacs who thought they knew better either.

“So, it’s yer time in the limelight. Big deal. Ain’t that what you musician types live for anyway? The art of the performance?” Like they were given any real choice in the matter. “Does it feel any different, killin’ for a greater purpose instead of killin’ for your own benefit?”

#[cadence of the damned; main]#wolfwoocl

Midvalley can't hide the roll of his eyes as he too finishes his drink. Naturally, the suave man then raises his glass to Wolfwood before pouring himself another drink. Through his teeth he mutters, "Yeah, you would enjoy being tenderized by a damn ruler ya damn cultist freak."

Is religion the same as a cult? He supposes not—but it doesn't change the downright strange way anyone from the Eye of Michael acts. Whatever the hell they do to their assassins is beyond him.

His eyelids flutter innocently as he playfully leans on his elbow and places his cheek to his knuckles. "Oh Chapel, I know all about men and instruments. One that I know of in particular is quite talented with his. Anyone who listens to him play leaves satisfied, no matter what their favorite instrument is."

Likewise he winks, refusing to let the other man win this little exchange—whatever winning entails, anyway.

Suddenly the mood shifts, and his table-mate is back to the grumpy, stressed out man that Midvalley knows him to be. He remains cheek to knuckles, using his other hand to twirl the glass of whiskey on its bottom edge nonchalantly. At Wolfwood's question, Player scoffs and quirks an eyebrow as he looks the man dead in the eyes with a golden gaze of curiosity.

"There's a difference? News to me," he releases a single chuckle before continuing, "I kill to survive, just like anyone else does. S'how we function. Until the status quo changes, I'd like to keep my paycheck stable and my flesh in one piece. What do people call it? A dog eat dog world? Somethin' like that."

One day, it'll probably be a 'dog eat Wolf' kind of world, but it isn't right now—besides, this is a sort of recon anyway.

"Why? Does killin' feel any different for you now that you're promoted and too goody goody to get a little blood on your tits?"

heir-to-the-diamond-throne

64 Sensory Prompts

Watching a meteor shower

Digging your fingers into fresh dirt

Snow being shoved down the back of your coat

Napping in sunshine

Trying to walk on ice

Walking through the woods

Raindrops on eyelashes

The way cold glass fogs when you press your hand against it

A perfectly brewed cup of tea

The taste of Vodka at the back of your throat

Blood at the corner of your mouth

Cloying sweetness on the back of your tongue

The first glass of fresh water

Stale breath when you wake up

The taste of salt on the tip of your tongue

The taste of almonds

Your bed after travelling

Red wine stained lips

Satin in candlelight

Reflections in glass

Thigh-high stockings and garter belts

Neon lights at 1.30am

Darting shadows in the corner of your eye

Dust floating in golden sunlight

The smell of ozone during a storm

The smell of Cologne/Perfume on warm skin

The musty smell of an abandoned home

The bitter tang of acetone

The smell of burning wood

The smell of freshly baked bread

The cold, sharp smell of the first frost

The smell of blood

The feel of fingertips trailing over a bare shoulder blade

The feel of fingers brushing together by accident

Blowing a raspberry against someone’s skin

Being so close that you can feel your lips brush when you whisper

The tender ache when you press against bruises

A person’s weight as they lie on top of you

Stepping in something squishy

Gritty eyes when you stare into fire too long

A door closing

A ticking wristwatch

Your favourite song on repeat for the hundredth time

Distant traffic

The creak of leather

The waver in a person’s voice when they’re stressed

Singing badly as loud as you can

A quiet sigh as they turn away

Trying to pull on clothes with damp skin

The empty space that can’t be breached between you in bed

The jittery, sick feeling when you can’t do anything

Exhausted numbness after crying

The relief of fatalistic recklessness

The moment when reality starts to make sense again

Finding old photographs you’d forgotten about

Someone accepting the bad parts of you without judging

Brown iodine stains on skin

Rust red dirt

Orange sunsets

Yellow halogen lights

Green wine bottles

Fingertips smudged in blue ink

Indigo skies just before dawn

Violet bruised eyes

Feel free to use in writing and art - I’ll be tracking the tag ‘sensory prompts’ if you want to share :)

#[ask meme]

"How do you feel now, looking back upon yourself at that time?"

⩥ @goldendivinewrath || twilight princess manga prompts [OPEN]

❝ how do you feel now, looking back upon yourself at that time? ❞

He and Vash have gone on countless times about regret and past experiences and grievances—talking about it til sunrise once. The man is endlessly curious about Midvalley, and he's not sure that he likes it. In fact, he's pretty sure that he doesn't like it. But hey, the guy is pretty set on the idea of being able to start over or change your ways overnight, so he's come to learn that his questions may not have deeper meaning than curiosity after all.

Midvalley rocks his head side to side, removing Sylvia's mouthpiece from his lips after finishing a warmup. Vash sure does pick strange times to talk to him about things. He and his brother seem to share that habit.

"Dunno. I try not to think about it," he grumbles nonchalantly, "I'm not like Punish—'Wolfwood'—I don't cling to the trauma and my past or whatever. It happened, I move on, more shit happens, then I move on from that..."

He plays a note and grimaces, then twists the mouthpiece until it's just a little bit higher up than before. Replaying the note, he appears satisfied and lets the instrument hang from his harness as he stuffs a hand in his pocket.

Truthfully, it's not as cut and dry as he makes it. Vash doesn't need to know that.

"I think about the band sometimes," Midvalley admits, uncharacteristically solemn, "They didn't deserve what happened to 'em. Guess that's the truth about a lot of people who die though."

He smiles fondly, fidgeting with his fingerings to avoid making eye contact with his judge, jury, and executioner.

"We had a good time. Gruesome work, you know, taking both bounties and contracts, but hey, we tried to have some fun with it. So long as we were helpin' the good guys and the bad guys we stayed out of the spotlight just fine, til that one job. The one where I met your brother."

A single chuckle.

"Party was over the moment the audience started clappin'."

#[hope on the high note; stampede]#[the reviews are in; asks]#[judgement binds all we hold to a memory of scorn; goldendivinewrath]

edenmemes

tloz: twilight princess (manga) starters

❝ i was shattered. i lost everything. ❞ ❝ i warned you not to take me lightly. ❞ ❝ we’re partners, aren’t we? ❞ ❝ ever since we’ve met, you’ve been disobedient and rude. ❞ ❝ take suffering as your companion, and unease and fear as friends. if you do, darkness will become light. ❞ ❝ it’s a cold world out there. you’ve gotta learn to trust folks. ❞ ❝ as you stand before me now, you’re all desperation and bravado. that is not true bravery. ❞ ❝ you can’t change your past and you can’t change who you were. you can only decide who you’re going to be. ❞ ❝ resentment is a trap of the heart into which everyone falls. ❞ ❝ you don’t look well. are you ill? ❞ ❝ you were born into life with a destiny. you cannot run away from that. ❞ ❝ you carry a smouldering darkness inside you. ❞ ❝ it’s considered impolite not to give your all in a fight. ❞ ❝ at dusk and dawn…it’s easy for all sorts of things to sneak by. ❞ ❝ since that day, so much has changed for me. ❞ ❝ i’m sorry. it’s been hard, huh? ❞ ❝ a true hero must shoulder a heavy responsibility. ❞ ❝ stay calm. move cautiously and remain vigilant. ❞ ❝ one more time. try telling the truth. ❞ ❝ why keep fighting until you’re just a broken wreck? ❞ ❝ if we start a fight, we must be ready to hit back. ❞ ❝ in the end, it’s easier just to be selfish. ❞ ❝ i was lost without you. i was lonely. ❞ ❝ why do i so often taste this sense of loss? ❞ ❝ i think both our journeys are pointing to the same place. ❞ ❝ power does not inhabit a blade without bravery. ❞ ❝ did you hear something? like the cry of a beast… ❞ ❝ what’s wrong? if you’re too weak, then just leave. ❞ ❝ what is strength? is it displays of power mocking the weak? destroying beauty simply to satisfy your greed? ❞ ❝ you get too worked up over things. ❞ ❝ easy for you to say. i’m the one getting beat up. ❞ ❝ i don’t need thanks. i didn’t do it for you. ❞ ❝ depending on your attitude…i might be able to help. ❞ ❝ if you don’t do as i say, i’ll take your arm off. ❞ ❝ as leader, i will not choose the path of pain and death for my people. i must protect them. ❞ ❝ strength isn’t about power…it’s about being brave. ❞ ❝ you have good eyes. the eyes of a proud beast. ❞ ❝ if the need arises, i will not hesitate to pick up a sword and fight. ❞ ❝ i guessed you had a secret past. people can try to hide it, but nature shows through. ❞ ❝ i was lying when i said i’d never held a sword.❞ ❝ there’s no time for sentimentality. ❞ ❝ if someone comes in who knows about your past, i’ll protect you if they try to hurt you. ❞ ❝ is there something strange about me? ❞ ❝ be careful…there have been monsters around here lately. ❞ ❝ choose…surrender or die. ❞ ❝ when i feel uneasy or afraid i just think: ‘this is my mission’. ❞ ❝ don’t take me for nothing more than a fine doll good only for decoration. ❞ ❝ i’m nothing more than dirt. i’m not worth all that effort. ❞ ❝ why do you think we’re any safer here? ❞ ❝ don’t die on me now. ❞ ❝ ha! even you have a good idea sometimes. ❞ ❝ i fought through all kinds of monsters to get here…and i survived. ❞ ❝ i’ve spent so long looking for you! i’m so glad you’re safe. ❞ ❝ people are always hovering over me…and it’s so suffocating! ❞ ❝ some detours lead to unexpected good luck. ❞ ❝ you say whatever you think…i’ve never done that. ❞ ❝ there is no greater joy than helping a friend. ❞ ❝ what do you mean ‘never mind’? ❞ ❝ these days such peaceful travels are rare indeed. ❞ ❝ wildly rushing into danger isn’t courage. ❞ ❝ didn’t you say there’s something you need to do, no matter what it takes? ❞ ❝ i sense unprecedented danger approaching. ❞ ❝ how do you feel now, looking back upon yourself at that time? ❞ ❝ as usual, you’re a wimp. ❞ ❝ resentment is dangerous. it comes in through the slightest crack in your heart. ❞ ❝ i’d go to the ends of the earth for you. ❞ ❝ it really hasn’t been that long, but you’ve grown into a fine man. ❞ ❝ now is the time for us to take back all that was stolen. ❞ ❝ one thing’s certain — those aren’t human. ❞ ❝ what do you fight to protect? answer. ❞ ❝ i wish you wouldn’t do such dangerous things. ❞ ❝ if you got hurt due to my mistakes…i don’t think i could live with that. ❞ ❝ why would you do all that…when we’ve only just met? ❞ ❝ it’s a pretty name. perfect for you. ❞ ❝ once your wounds heal, you’ll need to leave right away. ❞ ❝ the hero on his knees! quite a sight. ❞ ❝ how does it feel to be so strong? quite a rush, isn’t it? ❞ ❝ you’re all puffed up on your own arrogance…drunk on your own pride. ❞ ❝ i once wondered how good you are…now i see you’re really skilled. ❞ ❝ i’m not physically strong like you…but my wits, brains and analysis can be helpful. ❞ ❝ don’t say you can’t accept that this is the end. ❞ ❝ you just want to satisfy your own ambition and lust for power. ❞ ❝ it’ll be all right because we’re together. ❞ ❝ why would you leave me at a time like this? ❞ ❝ for the first time i feel like i’m overflowing with incredible power. ❞ ❝ there’s no time for doubt. you are the chosen one. ❞ ❝ your problem is that you demand absolute perfection. ❞ ❝ there is no easy path. but you can definitely overcome it. ❞ ❝ i’m so very sorry. i broke my promise. i hurt you. ❞ ❝ that’s the spirit. hate me more. only then will this fight be worthwhile. ❞ ❝ i thought you were dead. ❞ ❝ well…? say something. or has my beauty left you speechless? ❞ ❝ i never forgot you. not for one moment. ❞ ❝ sorry for killing the mood. ❞ ❝ light and shadow are two sides of the same coin. one cannot exist without the other. ❞ ❝ if you desire something…then that is my desire too. ❞ ❝ who says i’m afraid of you? ❞ ❝ your weapon is little better than a toy. ❞ ❝ all that awaits you is despair. ❞ ❝ i’ve done the unforgivable. i betrayed you. ❞ ❝ i’m here to repay you for what you’ve done. ❞ ❝ since i’ve met you, we’ve travelled a long way…and a lot has happened. ❞ ❝ are you on a journey of self-discovery? ❞ ❝ that was a great strike. if i was a hair slower, you’d have gutted me. ❞ ❝ when i was young, i wanted to be a hero. ❞ ❝ your struggle is futile. ❞ ❝ as you can see, i know how to fight. ❞ ❝ my hatred toward you will not be satisfied by merely killing you once or twice. ❞ ❝ you’ve been through a lot. ❞ ❝ whose side are you on? light or shadow? ❞ ❝ if you run then we’re done for! fight to survive! ❞ ❝ i’m not strong enough. not good enough. ❞ ❝ i must crush your bones, rip out your organs and relish your lingering cries of pain. ❞ ❝ that was close, huh? ❞ ❝ rest now. you don’t have to fight any more. ❞ ❝ i bear this sword so i can protect my home in times like this. ❞

#[ask meme]

goldendivinewrath

@thathollowsound [From here, because thoughts like a dozen tiny sharp-clawed kittens climbing everywhere--]

Vash remains quiet for far longer than he intends to, thinking. Everything around him has gotten so much simpler in some ways, but so much more devastatingly complicated in others. He still fights for humanity, deeply and truly believes in them, their ability to do great things and good things and learn to live with Plants instead of relying on them completely. He intrinsically believes that letting them choose, and getting them to realize that they even have choices to make, will more likely than not result in the kind of choices that help a community rather than an individual. He believes that. He will never stop believing that.

Still-- But. He's not-- He's not sure exactly when he began realizing that there were some individuals he's more likely to protect, defend, actually make his way back to, than others. There was always Luida and Brad, of course, all of Home, but what he has now, if he truly lets himself think about it, is different. Humans who chose him as much as he chose them, and finally coming to something of an understanding with his brother, repairing and rebuilding, and... well, something with the man he was standing outside with. His brother's chosen, he supposes, and that makes him part of this... this-- Group? Family?

Priorities haven't changed, they just-- They've shifted. Slightly. And Vash hasn't fully come to terms with it yet, he supposes.

Of all the things that finally gets him to make eye contact and respond, it's the use of "Punisher" for Wolflwood that finally drags words from him. Reasonably friendly with a bit of a whine: "Do you have to call him that..?" It's not the issue. It's so far from the conversation that he's clearly trying not to have--

Vash sighs, mostly at himself. "Things... changed. They're still changing, and we might have to change with them a little bit, I'll give you that." He admits, a little more openly than planned. Biting his bottom lip, gaze turning to the sky for a moment, he debates being more honest than he's comfortable with. In the end there's little reason to keep it to himself. "There are people I want to protect more than anything now, and..." That's dangerous. So, so dangerous. To him, to them. To anyone who isn't them. He can't predict anything; he can't even fully understand it all yet. He's never stayed somewhere, he's never kept up with anyone more than short periods of time every so many years at most...

"I don't want anyone to die." It's rote; all heard before, all said before, but it's still true. "And it's not my place to decide who 'should' live. Everyone should. I'd-- I'd rather be in front of the bullet, if it saves everyone. I'll take, and I'll grieve, as much as I have to--" And while there's a powerful conviction to his words, they remain quieter than they normally would.

He's never actually thought about anyone else mourning him before, is the thing he keeps trying to avoid thinking about. Vash finds himself needing to brace his hands against the railing for a moment as he curls into himself. "I'm still going to try. I have to try, but I... I don't know the rest yet."

Pathetically, he drops a little lower, curls into himself a little more, and still keeps his hold on the railing. Looking, and sounding, absolutely pathetic. "Why's everything gotta be so complicated, huh?"

#[hope on the high note; stampede]#[judgement binds all we hold to a memory of scorn; goldendivinewrath]#// woah the rare midvalley post wow!!#// i have been stewing on this for a while #// and also waiting for my muse to return which it has

@goldendivinewrath

He chuckles behind the base of his cigarette and it almost sounds like a hiss. Like a sigh, Midvalley exhales the smoke and taps the end rhythmically on the railing. Unlike Wolfwood, Player doesn't relax while smoking—the exhaust leaves as soon as he can breathe it out comfortably, never longer.

Maybe it's him getting soft, but he's grown fond of these conversations with Vash. Yeah, he has to push hard topics onto him like he's teaching a teenager about the hard truths of life, but there's a satisfaction with it that leaves him feeling like a weight's been lifted off of his chest afterwards. Perhaps he has some effect on the Angel, he's not sure. Does he want to?

"You know, it's interesting. I think both of you are right about the world in a way," he rests his palm on the railing, letting the cinders continue to burn, "Humanity sucks. You gotta walk into this world with a full suit of body armor and a rifle if you wanna thrive. On the other hand..."

His frown lines crease; he is well-practiced with the thoughtful grimace he wears. "On the other hand, humanity's capable of great things when it comes down to it. Sometimes it feels like humanity's sins outweigh the blessings—like good things will never happen because the sins are so heavy—but then someone like you exists and reminds us of the better days in life."

"Take Punisher, for instance—and no, I can't stop sayin' Punisher because his name doesn't roll off the tongue exactly," Midvalley interrupts his own thought, even though Punisher's name does actually sound like something endearing from Vash's mouth. "That man is a weapon. S'never known anything else. Trained to be a good little soldier, a man of repentance—all that shit. You came around and now he's broken, for better or for worse."

Seeing the way Punisher looks at Vash, watching how much he cares and—yes, he even loves—how far he's come from the man Midvalley has kept an eye on from afar. All prior research may as well be thrown out the window, because Punisher no longer shoots to kill. The self-hatred has been replaced with questions upon questions: 'Am I doing the right thing?', 'Have I been wrong all this time?', 'Does someone like me deserve love?'

He's far from being repaired—very far—but Vash shattered the soldier Knives had created, or whatever they did there in the JuLai facility. Maybe it's possible that he's broken too, now... and that's scary. Caring about others is out of character for him now; it's too dangerous after the way Knives found him and added him to his collection. Every day it's harder and harder to maintain his cool outer shell, and it's frustrating. Feelings are something he sacrificed a long, long time ago—well before Knives found him.

"You're too soft. You give second chances too easily. You're too self-sacrificial," Midvalley continues, sounding as if he's about to start scolding the blond again, "And yet... you've made it work, mostly. Got the scars to prove it. Letting people close has broken you too. Now you've got priorities. You'd take a bullet for him if it meant that he'd live, but would you take a bullet for a mundane bandit or somethin'? I gotta say, it's an interesting predicament and I can't say I don't enjoy watchin' your gears turn about it."

Midvalley pulls from the cig again, then ashes it and flicks it off into the desert somewhere.

"You're realizing the imperfections of humanity—the thing that you so badly wish you could be a part of. We have priorities. We protect the people we care about more than we protect the strangers on the street. We kill strangers easier than we can kill the people we care about. Two sides of the same coin, and the reality of that fact smacks a dent in your ideology, doesn't it?"

“Ass.” A bark with no bite. The grin on his face doesn’t fade, even if his eyes are hooded with a wariness.

“You’n I wouldn’t be havin’ this nice chat if that were the case,” he points out, half-listening to the drone of conversation and occasional giggles that surround them. Allow the noise to fade out and it becomes easier to catch anomalies as they occur, changes in the temperature of the room that suggest the coming of a storm. They are hardly perfect mirrors of each other, but Wolfwood is willing to place bets on which one of them would react faster.

The Gung-Ho Guns are all aware to some extent that Chapel has been given a special mission tending their leader’s wayward brother. Most are indifferent, serving as a matter of life or death or simply because they have no reason better.

Most.

Granted, storm chasing requires knowing where it’ll actually touch down. So far he’s found nothing but hearsay and rumors to chase in the dust. Still actively participating in their silent contest of stares, Wolfwood continues to study Midvalley’s expression over the rim of his glass. A man of good looks and grooming plying his trade, respectable by any standard measure of a hard-working soul resting their weary bones at the local bar at the end of a long day.

Not that it isn’t obvious that the man was sniffing around for information he shouldn’t be.

“But we can’t both be here for the same reason.”