Vash The Stampede (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
doubledollar) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kaisou2023-03-05 03:33 pm
doubledollar) wrote in kaisou2023-03-05 03:33 pm
Entry tags:
SEED 1 - Action and Text | UN: Stampede
WHO: Vash the Stampede + You!
WHERE: i. is within his labyrinth, ii. is on the libra app!
WHEN: 3/5
WHAT: Arrival things!
WARNINGS: post i. comes with warnings for panic/ptsd.
i. it wasn't supposed to be like this
[ the burning smell that's caused by machinery when it's broken well beyond repair isn't a scent anyone should be used to--much less something that one should have to experience more than once in their lives.
but he's here again. it burns again. he's not supposed to be here again--he'd remembered going to sleep, with plans on leaving town in the morning with his friend. but.
(a dream, it has to be a dream; his feet carry him down twisted and broken hallways of Home. The spaceship he'd been born in, where he'd spent his most precious days in and it's burning again, some doorways blocked with crumpled and collapsed parts of the ship-- where is? the exit?)
he's walked over dozens of photos littering the ground--partway burned and half-made memories of a young, golden-haired boy and his twin brother, a woman with jetblack hair
broken pieces of toys, from several phases of a child's life. most of them marred and unusable, unrecognisable until placed back together.
He finds himself at another blocked doorway, and the panic has started to set in hard: and finally, he finds himself calling out: ]
--Rem! Knives! [ his voice sounds ragged, desperate--his hands grabbing, finally, at a large piece of debris that blocks his way. despite how, normally, his physical strength is more than enough to move something like this... he feels so weak. Why? ]
--Wolfwood??? [ there's desperation in his voice, now. help. he needs help. he doesn't want to die here. not here, in a coffin made of his own personal hell. ]
ii. just help a guy out, please??
[ one way or another, he's managed to get out of the hell that is his labyrinth, and now he's got a general idea of what's going on, and what he's dealing with. honestly, it's weird being on a planet that's so lively and colourful, and ... free? he's excited about it, in a way, even if the anxieties about being far from home will likely stick in the back of his mind for a long while.
but he can't worry about that now. not when he's got other things on his mind, like...]
I'm just not a guy who feels right about getting a free ride, you know? I'll always offer a helping hand when a guy offers me a free meal, and stealing is just wrong. So.
Hey, nice t'meetcha! Name's Vash the Stampede! I'm just your ordinary wanderer, bodyguard, and ace gunman!
If you got any odd jobs, or know of how I can make a quick doubledollar or two so I don't feel like a mooch living off someone elses' goodwill, man--I'd really appreciate it.
I mean it. I'll even do your dishes. Something. Anything?
[ please. there's a donut shop down the street here and they wouldn't let him do odd jobs for a few pink icing pastries, he's dying. Help.]
WHERE: i. is within his labyrinth, ii. is on the libra app!
WHEN: 3/5
WHAT: Arrival things!
WARNINGS: post i. comes with warnings for panic/ptsd.
i. it wasn't supposed to be like this
[ the burning smell that's caused by machinery when it's broken well beyond repair isn't a scent anyone should be used to--much less something that one should have to experience more than once in their lives.
but he's here again. it burns again. he's not supposed to be here again--he'd remembered going to sleep, with plans on leaving town in the morning with his friend. but.
(a dream, it has to be a dream; his feet carry him down twisted and broken hallways of Home. The spaceship he'd been born in, where he'd spent his most precious days in and it's burning again, some doorways blocked with crumpled and collapsed parts of the ship-- where is? the exit?)
he's walked over dozens of photos littering the ground--partway burned and half-made memories of a young, golden-haired boy and his twin brother, a woman with jetblack hair
broken pieces of toys, from several phases of a child's life. most of them marred and unusable, unrecognisable until placed back together.
He finds himself at another blocked doorway, and the panic has started to set in hard: and finally, he finds himself calling out: ]
--Rem! Knives! [ his voice sounds ragged, desperate--his hands grabbing, finally, at a large piece of debris that blocks his way. despite how, normally, his physical strength is more than enough to move something like this... he feels so weak. Why? ]
--Wolfwood??? [ there's desperation in his voice, now. help. he needs help. he doesn't want to die here. not here, in a coffin made of his own personal hell. ]
ii. just help a guy out, please??
[ one way or another, he's managed to get out of the hell that is his labyrinth, and now he's got a general idea of what's going on, and what he's dealing with. honestly, it's weird being on a planet that's so lively and colourful, and ... free? he's excited about it, in a way, even if the anxieties about being far from home will likely stick in the back of his mind for a long while.
but he can't worry about that now. not when he's got other things on his mind, like...]
I'm just not a guy who feels right about getting a free ride, you know? I'll always offer a helping hand when a guy offers me a free meal, and stealing is just wrong. So.
Hey, nice t'meetcha! Name's Vash the Stampede! I'm just your ordinary wanderer, bodyguard, and ace gunman!
If you got any odd jobs, or know of how I can make a quick doubledollar or two so I don't feel like a mooch living off someone elses' goodwill, man--I'd really appreciate it.
I mean it. I'll even do your dishes. Something. Anything?
[ please. there's a donut shop down the street here and they wouldn't let him do odd jobs for a few pink icing pastries, he's dying. Help.]
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