nicholas d. wolfwood (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
asipofbride) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kaisou2023-04-08 10:20 pm
asipofbride) wrote in kaisou2023-04-08 10:20 pm
Entry tags:
[sermon one] black thoughts they come like a gun on the hip
WHO: nico, vash the pain in his neck, and you?
WHERE: nico's labyrinth and immediately after
WHEN: forward-dated to 4/15
WHAT: sometimes you're minding your business in the wake of the end of the world when a fresh crock of bullshit decides you're not allowed to leave the ride just yet.
WARNINGS: cw: blood, possible talk of human experimentation
i. inside a nightmare
[If Nicholas had been less of a realist, he might've called the situation unfair. hell, most people would've called fate or whatever greater cosmic force they might've believed in a huge jerk for taking them to the edge of the end of the world, only to avert said end of the world (except not, to the tune of a few hundred thousand people), leaving the (un?) fortunate souls to figure out what came next in wake of the shiny new hole in the planet, but wolfwood knows he's a bad person, so it's passe to complain.
Still. Tt's kind of a dick move to send a gaping black nightmare asshole to swallow him for the second time in his short life. Almost makes a guy long to be worm chow again. Worms are meat; sensible, shreddable meat, but black void assholery (shot through with horrid purple flowers and black, suffocating vines--) is just a whole new level outside the Punisher's pay grade. Not that he knows if he's got a paygrade these days, considering everything--
Still. There's nothing to do but get over it and get on with it when he wakes up again, shouldering his gun as his senses come back to him, throbbing but focusing in with a practiced quickness as he takes stock of where he is and finds himself--
Home.
He would know the sight of Hopeland Orphanage anywhere, and his gut twists to be in the one place he's missed more than anywhere, and the last place he deserves to be after everything that's happened. He doesn't think of Livio as he runs a hand over one of the large beds that tje children huddled in together, a sudden thought coming to him that for all it looked like Hopeland, it didn't smell, didnt *sound* like Hopeland, the busy orphanage eerily silent where the sounds of children should've echoed and prevailed.
Unease settled on his back. Wolfwood adjusted his hold on the straps of the Cross Punisher and made his way for the door--
Only to be greeted with the smell of blood and antiseptic, machines buzzing and beeping, whirring as they monitored god only knew what. A familiar table with heavy restraints laid nestled amongst the equipment, and Nicholas fought the briefest flickers of a number of emotions he'd snuffed out like so many cigarettes a long timr ago, dragging his eyes away from the table and to rhe next door, putting a little power into his walk because the Punisher didn't run.]
ii. outside in a different nightmare
[voice]
[the recording cuts in to the middle of two people arguing; people familiar with Vash will probably recognize his big yap anywhere, but the other voice is super mysterious!!]
--last time, I ain't gonna introduce myself to a bunch of strange weirdos. That's dumb.
[A gasp of outrage, theatric, from Vash.]
--They're not a bunch of weirdos! They're my friends! At least, most of them. Ones I haven't met yet, too.
[A heavy, put upon sigh from not-Vash.]
That doesn't inspire much confidence considering you call people actively shooting at you friends, Blondie.
Listen, that's different, people don't shoot at me here at all, so just. How hard is it to say, Hey, I'm new in town, nice t'meetcha, name's Nicholas D. Wolfwood, priest extraordinare!
For the last time, I'm an undertaker, not a priest, and that's still dumb. I don't need a bunch of people to know me. I just need a place where I can get some smokes because I don't have enough on me to deal with whatever tomasshit is going on right now.
Well, then you could just do that! There are plenty of people who use the--oh, wait, the light's on.
[Uh--fumble fumble? Somebody didn't read the instruction booklet. Unconfirmed whether someone can read, actually.]
Huh? What's that mean?
It's already recording over the network. I must have hit the button when I tried to take your phone.
[The long-suffering noise is sharp and swift.]
You dumb--Needlenoggin! I'll show you hit the button-- [a thud, and the immediate sounds of Vash whining like a dog you just stepped on.]
Turn it off!
WHERE: nico's labyrinth and immediately after
WHEN: forward-dated to 4/15
WHAT: sometimes you're minding your business in the wake of the end of the world when a fresh crock of bullshit decides you're not allowed to leave the ride just yet.
WARNINGS: cw: blood, possible talk of human experimentation
i. inside a nightmare
[If Nicholas had been less of a realist, he might've called the situation unfair. hell, most people would've called fate or whatever greater cosmic force they might've believed in a huge jerk for taking them to the edge of the end of the world, only to avert said end of the world (except not, to the tune of a few hundred thousand people), leaving the (un?) fortunate souls to figure out what came next in wake of the shiny new hole in the planet, but wolfwood knows he's a bad person, so it's passe to complain.
Still. Tt's kind of a dick move to send a gaping black nightmare asshole to swallow him for the second time in his short life. Almost makes a guy long to be worm chow again. Worms are meat; sensible, shreddable meat, but black void assholery (shot through with horrid purple flowers and black, suffocating vines--) is just a whole new level outside the Punisher's pay grade. Not that he knows if he's got a paygrade these days, considering everything--
Still. There's nothing to do but get over it and get on with it when he wakes up again, shouldering his gun as his senses come back to him, throbbing but focusing in with a practiced quickness as he takes stock of where he is and finds himself--
Home.
He would know the sight of Hopeland Orphanage anywhere, and his gut twists to be in the one place he's missed more than anywhere, and the last place he deserves to be after everything that's happened. He doesn't think of Livio as he runs a hand over one of the large beds that tje children huddled in together, a sudden thought coming to him that for all it looked like Hopeland, it didn't smell, didnt *sound* like Hopeland, the busy orphanage eerily silent where the sounds of children should've echoed and prevailed.
Unease settled on his back. Wolfwood adjusted his hold on the straps of the Cross Punisher and made his way for the door--
Only to be greeted with the smell of blood and antiseptic, machines buzzing and beeping, whirring as they monitored god only knew what. A familiar table with heavy restraints laid nestled amongst the equipment, and Nicholas fought the briefest flickers of a number of emotions he'd snuffed out like so many cigarettes a long timr ago, dragging his eyes away from the table and to rhe next door, putting a little power into his walk because the Punisher didn't run.]
ii. outside in a different nightmare
[voice]
[the recording cuts in to the middle of two people arguing; people familiar with Vash will probably recognize his big yap anywhere, but the other voice is super mysterious!!]
--last time, I ain't gonna introduce myself to a bunch of strange weirdos. That's dumb.
[A gasp of outrage, theatric, from Vash.]
--They're not a bunch of weirdos! They're my friends! At least, most of them. Ones I haven't met yet, too.
[A heavy, put upon sigh from not-Vash.]
That doesn't inspire much confidence considering you call people actively shooting at you friends, Blondie.
Listen, that's different, people don't shoot at me here at all, so just. How hard is it to say, Hey, I'm new in town, nice t'meetcha, name's Nicholas D. Wolfwood, priest extraordinare!
For the last time, I'm an undertaker, not a priest, and that's still dumb. I don't need a bunch of people to know me. I just need a place where I can get some smokes because I don't have enough on me to deal with whatever tomasshit is going on right now.
Well, then you could just do that! There are plenty of people who use the--oh, wait, the light's on.
[Uh--fumble fumble? Somebody didn't read the instruction booklet. Unconfirmed whether someone can read, actually.]
Huh? What's that mean?
It's already recording over the network. I must have hit the button when I tried to take your phone.
[The long-suffering noise is sharp and swift.]
You dumb--Needlenoggin! I'll show you hit the button-- [a thud, and the immediate sounds of Vash whining like a dog you just stepped on.]
Turn it off!
no subject
I'm a pretty talented guy. I can show you after I take a look at Wolfwood's gun.