kaisou | [sermon one] black thoughts they come like a gun on the hip

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[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!

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Ah, so is this that 'horrible priest' you told me about before?

I see he's up to his usual.

[Meaning Vash, but it's really not that hard to tell.]

Another dragged into the city, looks like. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by this.

[ he should be home resting. it's likely that if one of his friends in the city knew he was out doing his usual--patrolling around for new openings in reality, a constant worry that someone's stuck inside a labyrinth and unable to come out--he'd get told off by at least one of them. maybe two.

but here he was anyway. long red coat and hair immaculately preened despite the fact that he's currently missing an arm just past the elbow, he's inside the new pitch-black void and standing inside a place that... somehow feels familiar.
He's not been here before, and yet, peering out the windows, the darkness out there...
It was familiar.

He feels an ache in his chest as he starts to run--unlike a priest, he isn't afraid to do more than powerwalk in a place that seemed uncomfortable.

Time to find the soul who was trapped inside, and get the hell out. But first, look around to make sure there aren't any dangers. ]

[Rren could only stare at their phone a long moment after the audio message went up. They shouldn't be surprised at Vash being Vash, and yet.]

First. Hi. You must be The Wolfwood that Mr. The Stampede mentioned. It's nice to meet you.

Second. He is supposed to be at home. Resting. And I am going to kill him.

🍿

of course I'm a horrible priest, I'm an UNDERTAKER. apparently Blondie knocked his last two brain cells for a loop with his last fall.

anyway who the hell are you to call me horrible

Edited (formatting on el telephono es difficil) 2023-04-09 13:53 (UTC)

the hell is that supposed to mean

hi? I guess?

[vash is getting such a look why does he keep putting wolfwood's name on weirdos' radars he's going to hit him again]

if you'd like I'm an undertaker by trade and I would happily offer a discount to my services for the privilege of taking him out at this point

[ oh god libra just out and quoted him and now he's sweating bullets help, why, ]

you can't teach an old idiot new tricks

[emphasis on old because vash qualifies for like the ultra platinum senior discount at the megaplex]

so the black sky asshole just happens to people and they end up here? why

Why are you running your mouth about me to complete strangers? Repeatedly.

I'm not running my mouth!
I just--people here get curious about people from other worlds, and they ask stuff!!
Like, what's it like back home, what's your planet look like, what sort of friends do you have--

And given you're like, my partner and stuff--

[An Undertaker?? They thought he was a priest?? They'd ask Mr. The Stampede about it later. When they visited to yell at him for not resting. That man needed a damn guard posted.]

Hey. No killing him without me.

Though to be fair, he does a good job of just about getting himself killed without help from either of us.

[Which was exactly why they were going to kill him.]

[he should be home resting, but since when did Vash the Stumpede let a little thing like the mortal frailty of his body stop him from taking the stupidest and most altruistic choice?

Where Vash runs into danger, Wolfwood continues to determinedly walk away from it--hes good at that, always has been. He pushes his sunglasses up as if the slight darkening effect will do anything against Hopeland's cheerily bright halls, or against the unnatural, incessant glow of the machinery. He tries to keep his eyes forward, even when the landscape begins to warp, begins to... change in a way that drags cold tendrils of dread down Wolfwood's genetically altered spine.

He doesn't look too closely when the machines begin to merge with the familiar shapes of the orphanage, trays of medical instruments and mysterious syringes splayed out next to beds encased in restraints and wiring--and if his breath hitches at the sight of a child-sized silhouette held down on an operating table, only to see that it's just a teddy bear, only someone's toy, well.

No one's here to judge him.

Until they are.

He steps high to avoid the nests of wires and tubing that are almost trying to encase him, to trap him, only to pause when he hears the sound of footsteps approaching at a rapid pace. He needs a cigarette, but he tightens his grip on Cross Punisher instead, muscles tensing to swing the weapon around when he had a target in sight.]

If this is your idea of a joke, I ain't laughing!

[ it's an easy mistake to make and eventually the truth will out but Vash will still probably want to keep Wolfwood in the end. to his great chagrin.]

I'm a professional, I promise it'll get done with a minumum of mess and fuss.

And that's true enough, but considering it was my job to keep him alive for a while there, I'm still a bit sore about how eager he is to catch bullets with his torso.

[ from where that cloudy, black rip in the air vash is coming from--the building looks relatively normal. Halls are sort of well-lit, and he can see things like children's drawings and a scattered toy here and there along the hall as he's going.

it gives him the feeling of some sort of... school, perhaps; a daycare or something of the sort. the idea that its an orphanage hasn't quite entered his head yet, and it especially won't when he pushes in the first of many doors inside the building.
the view that he's rewarded with for his curiosity makes his stomach lurch, to be honest, and he's immediately feeling sick; images of a blonde-haired plant with sorrowful green eyes flickering into his mind.
followed by another image of her with wires pouring out of her spine, spilling out of where her eyes used to be--

He shakes his head, swallowing down the weight in his chest. Not here, he can't have another breakdown here. not when there's someone lost. his own nightmares didn't matter.
he closes the door to the nightmarish labratory, and continues to move.

...A shout has his head jerking up, his eyes focused on the direction it's coming from. He's going to rush the corner from where it came from--no idea that he's in danger of getting a cross to the face. That voice, was ... that? ]

It isn't my idea at all, where are you?? [ a hand over his face, calling out as he turns another corner. ]

The day you shut your yap is the the day you shrivel up and die!

So talk about that sandpit of a planet and the other people who like to shoot at you, leave me out of it! It's not like we're--

[ and then Vash stops him dead and Wolfwood just. stares at him, uncomprehending? he doesn't feel a little guilty you shut the hell. ]

How could you call me your partner after everything that went down?

[the cables and wires are slippery and sinuous, almost writhing like snakes around Wolfwood's calves as he struggles to stay upright while listening for the approaching unknown. He flinches at the feeling of something pricking at his skin, yanking his leg up, expecting the wires to have drilled into him, breathing half a sigh of relief when his leg comes away bare.

He can't stand still, can't stay here. He swings his cross forward and slams it into the pile, hauling himself up using it and beginning to ford the sea of machinery again--he'll take his chances with whoever the hell is coming. He can deal with people, one way or another. ]

Over here!

[ The drawings scribbled on the wall are like the child version of awful anatomical diagrams, red mars the stone surface and Wolfwood breathes antiseptic-fouled air through his nose as he grits his teeth and continues to slip and struggle through the rising wave of monitors and cords. Something winds around his ankle and he catches himself with his free hand--too disciplined to let go of his cross, cursing as the flooring lurches up to tangle around him, eyes flickering as he looks for a handhold, or something to press against so that he can get up and away again--

Only to find himself lurching back, tangled tighter as a familiar helmet seems to wind its way through the wires, leisurely swimming towards him like a worm in the comfort of a sand dune,

He's not panicking, but if he were the type to panic, he'd be very close to doing so.]

Oh fuck this!

[If he could just get his arm free, he could get his gun and solve most of his problems.]

... Do I even want to know how difficult that job was? No wonder you want to kill him.

You know what, he's all yours. But if you decide to spare him, I still need to yell at him. I'm making notes of everything I want to say.

[But the journal just keeps responding with suggestions of how to kill him. Maybe buying fancy blank journals in the Goodwill was not such a good idea.]

[ at first, the place just seemed horrifying. bad to look at, with the smell of acrid, drying blood coming from the rooms he's passing; a memory of a place best left forgotten. but as vash runs, he, too, realises that the wires that are snaking out of the rooms, along the cracks of the hallways aren't just lying there, benign but horrifying in the message of human experimentation:

they're moving.
like snakes, as if they had a life of their own.
of course it wouldn't be easy.

At the very least, the tendril-like wires weren't apparently going after him--no, their aim was likely the owner of the labyrinth, so it makes his life easier to follow where most of the movement is. As well as the several shouts that tell him where the man he's set to save is.

In moments, his gun is in his hand, as he turns the corner to see --someone he absolutely recognises struggling with those wires attempting to swallow them whole.
...They're a target that can be hit. And as quickly as his gun is drawn, he's balancing the long barrel of the .45 colt on the stump of his broken metal arm--taking aim, and with only three shots, those winding, coiling wires are shot with scarily-accurate precision, snapping them loose and cutting them free of Wolfwood's body.

Vash's expression almost tries to look happy, but.
Now's not the time.
Not now. ]

Nico, RUN. This way, the exit's this way!

It was the hardest thing I've ever done considering he didn't want me to shoot anybody shooting at us because he's

[a good person]

a moron.

You can come yell at him. He deserves someone else lighting him up before I send him on his way to his maker.

[ the wires coil and lash and Wolfwood swears he can feel them lacing their way under his skin, gritting his teeth at the real? phantom? real? ache that laces through the meat of his calves, struggling all the same because he's always been too stubborn to give up. He's choking on the scent of dried blood and old, primal fear, spitting and swearing as he fights not to be swallowed whole, pulled down into nothingness--

And then cables snap around him, one-two-three, and he finds the power to yank himself up and out, to scramble onto the dying mound of wires, bringing Cross Punisher down on the helmet with a satisfying crunch of metal, breathing hard as he looks to his savior and finds--]

--Vash?!

[an angel.

It comes unbidden to him, the image of a star falling to the land, of a purple dome peeling Julai off of the face of the planet like a child might peel a label off a can of preserves, leaving only a gaping crater as the sticky, residual memory that something had been there, once--

But the cords lap at Wolfwood's ankles, and he decides that the devil that smiled at him is better than the devil that never pretended to know what mercy was. He runs towards Vash, cross hauled up on his shoulder, a hundred thoughts rushing through his mind and fighting for his tongue in equal measure.

Was this hell? Some sort of greater scope punishment for the universe's favorite pair of chewtoys? How was Vash still alive? Was Vash alive, or was Wolfwood dead? His thoughts swirl and twist over each other, like rats trying to escape a flooding burrow, so the best he comes up with is--]

What the hell did you get us into now, Blondie?!

[ it's him, it's really him. of the people he did not expect to show up here, it was him. he'd been alone for a month, far from home and any reminders of what it was that he came from, who he truly was under the mask of smiles he wore--
Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to be nervous about it. No, because it's Wolfwood.

His friend, his support. The man who came and found him two years after the horror that was the July incident. Why wouldn't he be happy?

...Especially as the man calls him his name, for the first time since they'd met? His heart does a little lurch--but he knows now isn't the time to be happy about it. Later, he can make a fuss about it later. Those wires were still aiming at the man with intent to trap him in this nightmare. ]

Y, yeah! It's me, come on! This way! I'll cover you??

[ wolfwood is always the quickest man in the world to shoot. And yet, he's using the cross-punisher as a bludgeoning weapon?? Why isn't he just....?
No time. ask later. He's raising his gun again as the man rushes toward him. Firing off a fourth bullet towards the cords getting too close too soon before taking off after him. ]

Hey, this isn't my doing! I came in here to save you, I thought that at least earned me a 'Thanks!!'
I'll explain what's going on once we get out, for now, just--run!

That. Sounds like Mr. The Stampede alright.

And you know what. I will. Where?

[They were already loading up their backpack, checking to make sure the irritation hadn't brought out the damn ears and tail again, making sure the dragon had water, y'know, normal before leaving the house things...]

His dedication to his peace schtick would be admirable if it didn't inconvenience me so damn much.

Stupid says we're near the stable gates. Something about a fish park, whatever that means.

Edited 2023-04-09 16:19 (UTC)

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[sermon one] black thoughts they come like a gun on the hip

Video; un: Libra

anonymous || text forever, basically

i. inside the nightmare

Text | UN: vermeowenby

text · un: vinviv

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[in the background, right next to vash]

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