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nobodysdaydreams · 3 months

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I WAITED ALL THIS TIME FOR CUTTER’S TRAGIC BACKSTORY AND IT’S THAT HE GOT HIS TELESCOPE STOLEN AS A TEENAGER AND DECLARED REVENGE?

Oh, well then, forget Hilbert’s family dying of radiation, Jacobi’s guilt over his failures, and Maxwell’s alienation from her family, THIS was the sad villain backstory the show was building up to. And Cutter is so serious about it too, y’all I can’t. 🤣

(Or my reaction to Wolf359’s Special Episode: Volte Face)

Hi Dear Readers. Gonna be doing some work during this one, but I hope you like the reaction regardless because I've put off enough, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Here we go!

Tagging the mutuals who got me invested in this, and if you want to be tagged or untagged from these posts, lmk, or you can follow my blog or simply follow the tag "#bods wolf359 reactions". Anyone who has followed me for a while knows my updates are inconsistent, so I apologize in advance for that and for any spelling/grammar mistakes in my posts.

@sophieswundergarten @oflightningandstars @acollectionofcuriousreblogs @herawell @commsroom @lovelyladylavie

Special Episode: Volte Face

Huh. A few years before the start of the show. This should be interesting.

Oh ew Rachel.

Wait is this her origin story?

Enlil (yes I looked up the spelling this time, yes I was careful, and yes I did this after the reaction) is so cheery. Like Cutter if he was actually nice.

Wait. Why are they calling her “Miss. Nash”?

Oh. They tried to kill her at the hotel. And she seems to know they’d try to do this, is totally okay with it, and willingly getting on a plan with them? Okay?

Don’t like this David Clark fellow.

Nash is not nice Enlil. She’s not nice at all.

Does Cutter kill or hire all the reporters that come to his door? If so, I hope Minkowski’s husband is okay.

The safety video is on mute? That’s symbolic.

The AI is the only character I like.

Andrea Nash? Am I hearing this wrong, I swear that’s Rachel Young.

So Enlil got the job Hera wanted. Flying a fancy jet all day. Hera did say that’s what happens when you’re happy and do as you’re told.

Huh. Did not expect Cutter to be a Harry Potter fan.

Ew not Cutter doing the “welcome to Wolf359” I hate it.

Was Goddard the OG Marcus? Wright-Goddard? Interesting… let’s see… 40s, 50s, 60s… AI.

Renamed in 1974… so that’s significant. Also when Cutter says “things no monkey could do” why do I think he means humans?

1976. So that’s when he took control.

People? I don’t like the sound of that.

Change the world for the better? …no. I respectfully disagree.

Oh she’s not asking about certain things. Restraining bolt?

“where were we” “how you were gonna change the world for the better” 🤣 yeah. Right after he removes everyone’s free will, sure.

Are all these people that are being listed Cutter? That’s a lot of new people.

Right they all disappeared.

Do the names of the stars have a similar pattern that the fake names have?

What does she mean by “I have EVERYTHING”? What is everything? Like… everything everything?

Oh they got that restraining bolt.

David. I think Cutter might decide to give you the restraining bolt instead.

“The same reason you don’t hold this job for more than a decade” DANG!

Matthew Newman?

Oh that’s him isn’t it? The real him?

IS THAT A GUN?

This escalated so quick.

Oh she got him. And Cutter took this so personally.

Come on Cutter. Drop the backstory. Oh Andrea Nash isn’t her name either.

Yep. Matthew Newman. Here he is.

Ah. A little high school student poking his nose where it didn’t belong. Oh so Cutter has been infatuated with aliens since he was a boy.

Wait. That’s it? The government took his telescope when he was 15 and he declared revenge? That’s his sad backstory? That’s the best he could do?

Oh and then he got fired when someone had to take the fall at the company. That too. But he still said he declared revenge when he was in high school? This is ridiculous. And further proof that science nerds who are also over dramatic theater kids cannot be trusted (expect for me because I’m special 🥰).

Oh so when Matthew left he gave the restructure order. I see… but then how did he get the new bodies?

He found Miranda Pryce. But how did she have the tech?

Maybe he used plastic surgery the first time around.

Oh. He was Miranda’s first test subject. And she wanted to manipulate the human body probably because of her blindness.

“Revenge is fun” “you can just steal one” “space exploration is only part of the bigger picture: progress. I want a better future” put those three statements together and tell me if you sound like a good guy, Cutter.

I see. So rather than stop him, Nash wants in so that she can have a hand in it. She’s just as gross as he is.

“No” *cuts to Andrea as Rachel head of special projects*

Cutter has seen Monsters Inc?

“More productive use” “Volte Face” okay this is the part where you should have brought a gun… oh the wave radiation. Good thing she’s knows that. I guess that’s enough to give Cutter the job. Rough day for you David.

Oh she has to reinvent herself. Rachel. Yep. So this is how she got here. I don’t like her. She knows what Cutter’s about, and her response is she wants in? Absolute worst.

“Goodbye Miss. Nash”

Well that was sort of a dark ending. You either willingly give up your humanity to join Pryce and Cutter or they take it. One way or another.

Anyway, now we know more about Rachel and Cutter. Gotta say, his sad backstory is funnier and lamer than I could have ever imagined. I was, bear minimum, expecting something like the board members who pushed him out of the company were close personal friends, or maybe his parents yelled at him and forced him to give up his space dreams or even a line about the kids at school laughing at him for being a high schooler who believed in aliens. But nope. He stumbled upon something, got his telescope stolen by the government and was like “you know what? I’m gonna spend the rest of my life and several more lifetimes getting revenge for this specifically.” The people who took the dang telescope aren’t even alive anymore! Look, I get they also ransacked his house and yelled at him, which is a lot for a teenager, but to respond by declaring revenge then and there and plotting world domination, I just…

I mean, I guess the moral of the story is don’t inconvenience a young science genius if they’re also a dramatic theater kid. Because they will immediately jump to world domination and change their name as part of that process and befriend(?) an evil woman who gives them next level tech. It’s happened too many times in too many of my fandoms (well two so far, show Curtain and Cutter. At least show Curtain’s sad thing was that his family left him. Still not an excuse considering his brother was also a kid at the time, but it’s better than a telescope).

I can see why you all hyped this up. It’s hilarious, but also shows how being affiliated with Cutter makes people slowly lose their humanity (again, one way or another) despite Cutter calling himself a “people person”.

Also if Rachel knows about the modified bodies, does that mean she has one? Or maybe she’s not old enough yet.

On a more serious note: Rachel’s character makes me sad. She could use her powers for good and expose so many bad people. And it sounds like she did for a while. But then she decided to sell out. Disappointing. What a waste. And since Rachel and Andrea were both fake names… we might never learn who she really is. Or maybe that doesn’t matter, since that person, who ever she was, no longer exists. Again, Cutter and Pryce do specialize in taking away other people’s humanity.

Well. Only 2 hours left. Not tonight, but later. When I have time to really sit and give a good listen. We’re in the endgame now dear readers. I hope y’all are ready!

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2kmps · 8 months

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volte-face; noun; a sudden change from one set of beliefs or plan of action to the opposite.

vash x plant engineer!reader

story synopsis; plant engineers are a rarity in no man's land, let alone good ones. you stand as one of the best humanity has to offer, having worked alongside vash for two years to alleviate the suffering of humans and plants alike. you're immediately attracted to the rumors of plants dying in a metropolis built above a geoplant hub; an oasis in the desert. with no way to know whether the city actually exists, you and vash set out into the unforgiving wasteland, chasing myths, and unprepared for what's hidden at the end.

story warnings; gun-violence, vash and mc have a complicated relationship, explicit details, democide, mentions of human trafficking, religious themes, erotic details/sexual themes, issues of autonomy, heavily implied sa, co-dependency between vash and mc, suicide, weird spin on "childhood friends to lovers" trope. mdni.

chapter one; 6.7k; rumor has it...

It was the man with one eye and a top row of silver teeth hunkered over a bottle of jack who spoke of New Oregon; a city-oasis veiled by beige wasteland and tempestuous sandstorms. A heavy haze of gray smoke and booze made the air in the cramped space stagnant; hard to breathe, sending the man into a fit of dry sputters that he chased with the burn of whiskey down his throat.

He never offered his name once that evening; a drunk nobody like everyone else there. It didn't matter how they crowed about bounties and conquests, modified their bodies with gatling guns, metal, shiny gold or silver. They simply didn't matter, so their nights were spent suffocating on dirty air that dimmed the flickering amber light from metal lampshades overhead, and the smell of unwashed men.

Not many turned from their card games or glistening liquid in sticky cups to hear this prattling fool at the bar, though. He was a regular; morning, day, and night, in fact. A sad shape of a man desperately clinging to any lasting stares, or perhaps remnants of a better time in his life imitated through liquid courage.

Boisterous, nonsensical, slurring words through coughs that made his barrel-shaped chest flounce, he was extremely ignored by everyone--

All except for you and Vash.

In a nondescript little corner of the bar nearest to a brown-tinted window just slightly cracked, you swirled around the speckled ice cubes in your glass; loud enough to hear it, not loud enough to fade the man's adamant claims.

"Bah, no one here wants to hear it, but I'm tellin' y'all! It's a whole damn city! No, no, wait!" He forced more whiskey down his throat, wetting his mustache when he nearly missed. "It's bigger! It's like July, a metropolis! Except, it doesn't look like July, it- it- it looks like- like- shit, I don't know. It's nothin' like we've ever seen here on No Man's Land!

"It's all lush, lush, lush green! There are water fountains, and trees and flowers! Flowers! You've heard of 'em, right? They're all livin' in a real lap of luxury there. Been hearin', though, that it's goin' extinct like everywhere else; plants are dyin' off. Innit just shit? I haven't even had a chance to look for it yet."

Everyone in the bar knew that New Oregon was a fabled place, sort of like a eutopia; somewhere, if you found it, you could live out the rest of your days in comfort and bliss. Surviving human artifacts from the bygone millennia on earth told legends of similar places: El Dorado, Atlantis, Avalon, and Zerzura. All places humans wanted to venture, into yet have never found. And never would.

Vash nursed his drink, the alcohol here didn't leave a good taste in his mouth, and neither did the stifling air. He looked to you occasionally, perhaps watching you more closely than he did anyone else in the bar. You were oddly fixated on this man's story and for good reason--

You were a plant engineer; one of the few, one of the best humanity had to offer at this point. Staking out the saloons and unsavory spots in outposts and trading posts for information on towns falling into disrepair and death was your hobby; tracking down these places and their plants was your bread and butter.

"You ain't ever even been to New Oregon; who you getting your info from, brother?" called a newcomer to the bar, throwing down his losing hand in poker. "These rumors are starting to get around more now. You're the fifth person in two months I've heard talk about that damn place."

Elated, the drunk shouted back across the room with all the eagerness of a smart schoolboy, "Lambertonville! One-fifty iles southeast! Good watering hole, lots of hawkers. There's a guy named Jetson, said he used to sell in New Oregon a while back."

A couple of the men groaned, laying down their cards, slugging their absinthe, whiskeys, and beers. "It's all crock! All bullshit! New Oregon is just made up, we're tryin' to have a good night. Stop talkin' about it!"

"It ain't made up!" he thrust a fist onto the solid wood bar repeatedly. "It's a geoplant hub! Are you gonna say those don't exist, because they do!"

Vash took a finical sip, mainly trying to wrap his tongue around a chipped piece of ice. It crunched against his molars as he chewed slowly, gaze darting between the quarreling men, to the splendent look in your eye just as you hopped to your feet and made for the doors.

"I don't know if you're going to be able to convince Meryl to drive one-hundred fifty iles to this place," Vash admitted to you on the way back to the hotel, shaking his slight buzz off into the cold night air. "It sounds like a longshot to follow rumors from a random guy in a bar."

"Don't worry about it." You said, untying the white coat at your waist to slip your arms through it. "I've got an idea."

Vash was worried clear up until the point of the one-hundredth ile ticking on the van's dashboard several hours later. Meryl drove with an otherworldly determination now; skillfully weaving the vehicle around mountainous sand dunes, looming rib bones of ancient beasts long gone, and the frequent wild thomas attempting to cool their bodies in layers of dust.

"What did you say to her?" Vash tried to pry out of you more than once in that four-hour trip.

You had your jacket bunched up against his shoulder, a comfortable barrier between you and him until he tried flattening it down to whisper in your ear.

He was too close, so you swatted the air near his face. You stumbled through your words, letting your grogginess win over actually caring enough to explain. "Exclusive interview with magical hawkers saves humanity in the city."

It wasn't as obvious to decipher what you actually meant to say.

For a while, he left you alone to drift off into a mostly heat-induced nap, your thighs still housing a tremendous insulated tumbler. The water and ice cubes would slosh and chatter against metal walls, only briefly eclipsing the roaring engine pulling the vehicle your bodies through the sand. Roberto's snores from the passenger seat came closer to dwarfing either of those, though.

You slept more heavily during the day than any other time, he noticed. Often times spending your nights in town or rummaging your twin dufflebags of equipment to account for each and every piece; all components necessary to repair the reactors housing plants. You were meticulous and careful; clinical yet easily one of the more excitable people he'd ever met.

He only ever saw you wrapped up in a task or work, or sleeping, rarely anything in between. A byproduct of your upbringing in a pale, sterile, and technical environment more focused on progression and results, rather than personal development within.

Still, he could think of you fondly. A very rare, single constant he's had in his life for two years since you left that pristine environment with bright lights, holopads, and computers. You had told him once, fate decidedly pushing you to cross paths again in the desert, that progress couldn't happen by waiting like Luida chose to do with her glass dome and flora.

A faint smile touched his lips when he looked across the balled fabric at you, finally resting after a long night. You didn't stir when he shifted his arm, letting your head and body slump into a new crevice he made--hopefully more comfortable for you than having your neck bent at an odd angle.

He looked up when Wolfwood moved--switching one cramped, crossed leg for the other--not missing the meaningful, pointed stare he received through the other man's darkly tinted sunglasses. The bent cigarette bounced as it was pinched in a crooked, knowing smile and silent laughter that instantly sent Vash's gaze sweeping to the blurred, brown landscape out the window with a body-wide burn that he suppressed.

It stayed like that for the last hour or two of the trip; complete silence apart from Roberto's planet-shaking rumbles and the engine sputtering beneath oppression of the binary suns. They glowed white and hot, vaguely reminiscent of the searing fluorescent lights that plagued his youth; long hours simply lying and staring, unfocused and shackled by his own unwillingness to move.

Some days, it felt like nothing had changed at all.

Lambertonville appeared distantly just before dusk, while the pitched rooftops of houses and reaching steeples of sleepy churches were caressed by the faraway sky hued in wreaths of scarlet and orange. They were chased away by the sprawl of night, of a black blanket dappled by uncountable glittering stars observed only by a pair of moons slowly rising overhead.

The headlights on the van illuminated an old wood sign hanging above the entrance to town, all at once fading to dark when Meryl killed the ignition, slumping over the wheel while gripping it with both hands.

"We finally made it." She expelled a hard breath, almost as though she had been holding it for a long time. "It was starting to feel like we'd never get here. I'm so hungry and tired. I want to take a bath."

"No rest for the weary, rookie," Roberto said, unclipping his seatbelt to let it reel back into its slot near his head. "We still gotta check in somewhere and move our luggage. Don't forget to consolidate your notes for your article, too."

Meryl nearly triggered the horn when her forehead landed with a dull thunk on the steering wheel, her sighs of suffering growing. "Sure thing, boss."

"Must be hell to be a reporter." Wolfwood mused aloud, barely pushing the door ajar with his foot before his hands were cupping a quivering flame and he was puffing away on his cigarette. "Can't say I envy either of you. Oi, Spikey. Buttercup. You both awake?"

"With how loud you talk, it's impossible not to be." You groused, sorely tempted to send your tumbler rocketing at his head while collecting your things. "I have a name, Churchman."

He grinned. "Could've fooled me, Sweetcheeks."

"Oh, shut up."

Wolfwood sucked in a breath and shrugged, throwing the door shut when you chose to get out on Vash's side; a trivial act of petty vengeance, but certainly one that he would retaliate at some point, somewhere down the line.

When you finally had your bearings after the long car ride; hard stretches and bends, joints cracking as you flexed them out and wrung out your spine, everyone's belongings were laid out in the sand with exception to your white jacket. Vash approached you with it neatly folded, a few creases forming that he looked particularly doleful about, as though if were his responsibility to fix.

"It shouldn't be too hard to get them out," he was telling you, hiking the narrow strap on his knapsack higher onto his shoulder. It was then that you noticed your black duffle bags hanging off of his other one, managing the weight of all of your equipment with impressive ease.

He saw your eyes, offering a disarming smile as he tilted that side towards you. "You just woke up. I thought I'd just lend you a hand. I can't believe you carry these around everywhere, they're pretty heavy."

Once slipping into your coat, you took your bags from him and flattened the shoulder straps on your body. "I guess some people are just built differently."

Your back was to him then, starting after Meryl and Roberto to hunt down the cheapest inn that'd take your double-dollars. The look he fixed on you was one he didn't think was possible to show to your face; wistful and somber, a beautiful ache spurred by memories that gouged him whenever you were near. You were a working mechanism in his daily life; part of routine, part of a peaceful sameness he desperately sought out, yet eluded him and slipped through his fingers like water.

If you weren't there now, he wasn't sure if he could go back to how it used to be. Wandering. Wandering. Wandering aimlessly and all alone; lost amid the vastness of No Man Land's desolation, praying the next town would hold out longer than the rest.

And yet, he saw all the things in you that he didn't want to. He saw the suffering of humanity in you and what it meant to claw and struggle to survive; saw hope and depravity in the white coat you kept close, now lightly browned from age and elements. He saw his past when he looked at you, the very thing that kept him walking on and on and on...

"I'll be back later." You announced to the group a little later on, having antsily tossed aside your equipment in the room you planned to share with Meryl and Roberto. "I'll try to be quiet when I come back."

This was work time, everyone knew.

No one tried to stop you on your way out, Vash and Wolfwood keeping pace, flanking you on either side. It was easy enough for them to anticipate where you were going: the closest dirty, rowdy bar you could find to scrape out some information or buy it with a couple of shots of hard liquor.

Wolfwood was a simple man, he held as much interest in your investment with plants as he did knowing what Meryl's next article was about. What he did enjoy, though, was a lively crowd after half a bottle of whiskey. Besides, places with cheap booze always had the best food, for whatever reason.

You did a double-take towards Vash, catching the dull sheen across his eyes; a distracted, thousand-yard stare.

He nearly started, pulling at the cold arm you touched. "Hey, you doing okay? You should go back to the inn and sleep off today."

"Yeah," Wolfwood injected, flicking his lighter a few times until the bud of his new cigarette glowed hot. "Don't think I saw you sleep at all the entire ride. Besides, a bar in a trading town probably isn't the best place for you to be, Spikey."

When he gestured past you both, towards a nearby building with bullet holes pocking outmost layers of brick and limestone, you saw a row of wanted posters. It was everything you could do to keep yourself from yelling expletives as you rushed over, tore them down, shredded them in half, and let the breeze carry them far, far away.

"Nice work." Wolfwood clapped languidly, giving your shoulder a hard smack on his way by. "Just gotta do that with the hundreds of other ones hanging around."

You could kill him sometimes, you really could.

"Vash." He didn't look at you immediately. "Seriously, you should probably head back. These small towns are the worst places for us to be. All it takes is one person to recognize you."

He already knew that. He's already heard it all from you before. Many times over.

"What about you?" he said, at last, gesturing weakly with a hand to your mostly white uniform. "You stick out a lot more than most people. No one is going to see you and think you belong there."

You spaced your arms and legs out, looking down at yourself, frantically patting away dust on your pants. "Do you know how expensive clothes are? Besides, everything is heat resistant. I'd probably actually die of heat stroke if I wore anything else."

He was inclined to agree.

You yanked the coat zipper down when he spoke again. "What I'm saying is: I'm not letting you go alone."

"Mister sixty-million-double-dollar bounty, I think you need to worry more about yourself. Besides," you pulled away one side, the handle of a pistol peeking out from a brown holster. "I'm packing, too. If it came down to it, I'd be just fine."

"As if you know how to shoot!" Wolfwood yelled from somewhere, his voice carrying on the breeze and spearing through the back of your head with all the sting of an untuned instrument.

Tonight, you would kill him.

Wolfwood was right, Vash thought glumly. This was all talk; handling weapons much less firing them was nowhere within your scope of practice, nor expertise. In the two years he had traveled with you, that gun had never been set off once. He had been the one to force it into your hands following a particularly nasty scuffle, one where you almost didn't make it out with him.

You scared him that day, and you still manage to scare him most days in how you purposefully flaunted yourself around, brandishing the uniform-clad on your body in hopes it attracted the very attention he tried so hard to thwart.

"Can..." Vash had to sigh, shoulders rolling forward as he rubbed his nape. "Can we at least stick to the back corners or something? Out of the way?"

That's exactly what didn't happen.

Vash sat at the bar, fingers so tightly clenched around his bourbon he thought he felt the glass splinter against his skin. The insides of his cheeks were raw from how long his teeth had been gnawing on his skin. He had been sitting with the same drink for over an hour now, too tight in his shoulders and back to will himself to take a sip, too on edge to think he even could.

The bar met every expectation between the three of you; Wolfwood was having an adamant chess tournament, the long neck of a bottle of wild turkey closed in his fist while he and others hollered over every poor move and checkmate.

Fortunately, you stayed nearby to Vash despite having about three shots in you already. Just enough to loosen you up to socialize and pry for information; always work-related, never for pleasure. Vash kept his eyes on you whenever you roamed away, palms full and fingers splayed across multiple shooters that you passed around. The favorite candy of hapless, drunk men.

"Jetson?" echoed one man returning for a drink. You handed it to him, he thanked you, slammed it back, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Jetson. Jetson. Oh! That hawker guy. Yeah, he's been long gone for a few weeks. Who knows where he's at now."

Not what you were hoping to hear. "That sucks. Well, did he share anything about a place called New Oregon?"

"That mythical city or whatever?" came a new voice, this one belonging to a fairly young, lanky lad. He didn't look old enough for alcohol, though laws like that didn't really apply to towns sitting this far away from major cities. "I remember people talking about it. It's supposed to be some sort of oasis, right? Run by geoplants?"

The first man nodded. "S'posed to be a big hub for 'em, I guess."

"I've heard rumors about their plants dying." You said, leaning a hip into the nearest table while looking between them both. "Anyone mentioned that around here recently?"

"Well," the young guy started, pouting when you kept the drinks in your hand out of reach. "I don't know if it's related, but there were a couple of merchants here last week talkin' about how these really wild sandstorms keep picking up near Serpent's Tongue. And they're just too... weird to be natural."

The one man squeezed a whistle through his parched lips, kneading them together after downing another shot. "Serpent's Tongue is a ways out there. Didn't realize these guys were going that damn far."

"How far are we talking here?" you asked, skeptically.

"Let's put it like this," the drunkard stumbled closer to you, holding both his hands erect and a distance from each other. "You're gonna have an easier time getting to July; sand steemer, fed checkpoints, all of that stuff. That's almost two weeks. Serpent's Tongue is two huge rock faces with a passage between 'em. Real nasty area in certain parts. You're lookin' at almost a month just to get there, not countin' how many days you stop to build your strength back up."

You nearly let the liquor in your hand smash to the ground at the mention. The very notion of spending a month or more on the move to a city that may or may not exist was insane. It would mean a month of praying the elements didn't get you first, that bandits didn't find you, and that grand sandworms didn't plague those areas.

"Has anyone ever actually been to New Oregon?" you pressed, taking a shot for yourself to dull the panic beginning to twist in your gut. "Has anything ever been verified? Anything at all?"

The lad watched you pointedly, heard the glass clicking as your fingers curled into the makings of a fist. "You tryna go there? I don't think you'll have any luck, but something I'm remembering: Apparently there were some wind turbines in the area. They weren't old, either."

You felt your heart pinch in your chest and then lodge in your throat, this was the feeling you lived for. The sheer elation of a breakthrough, a sliver of light somewhere cast in darkness. The very small, very few straws you could grasp and hold onto with dear life.

This was justification enough.

With a splendid smile that pulled your lips taut over your teeth, you said, "Two things: A map, and where do you stable your thomases?"

Vash tried to gauge the bright look on your face as best he could. You had been that way since meandering back to his side, finally satisfied enough in your pursuit to sit down at the bar and order something a little more digestible. He watched your lips dance across the rim of your cup, teeth clicking into the glass a time or two, letting your mind hazily turn over the possibilities.

At that point, his shoulders were a little loose and he was on his third drink, having switched over to jack a while ago. He had questions he wanted to ask: Who did you talk to? What did they say? What are we going to do? What was that pamphlet they gave you?

He couldn't will himself to utter any of it; instead, he leaned forward on his arms, pads gripping the wide rim on his glass while observing you and your entire lightness. A side of you he rarely saw apart from a successful job; a glimmer of happiness often so easily stripped away.

It looked dazzling on you. He smiled tenderly.

"Alright, compadres!" Wolfwood was at both your ears suddenly, an arm over each neck as his weight bore down. "I can say that these hicks don't know shit about chess. I'm also fucked up. Time to go."

Your malicious edge had all but dissipated by now, giving way to someone far more malleable. Between the three of you, it was bottoms-up one more time, the hot liquid gaining purchase in your throats as it burned inside your nostrils and behind your eyes. A nice way to keep warm as you left the bar, the cold desert air still making your teeth clatter as it caressed your neck and jaw.

Far ahead of you, there were glints of orange and the smell of smoke. Wolfwood wasn't looking back at either of you, now grumbling on about the inbred hillbillies not knowing how to play chess, and resorting to cheating. You meant to take it that he lost a few too many games, and couldn't stand to sulk about it in the bar with everyone around.

"Better luck next time, Pastard*." You laughed.

He stuck a finger up at you, pocketing that hand afterward to keep it from getting numb. "You guys are too slow. Figure out your way back on your own."

Vash tilted towards you, whispering conspiratorially, "I think you struck a nerve."

"I think anything we say to him strikes a nerve." You rejoined.

"Yeah," he looked over his lenses, trying to scope out any lasting trace of Wolfwood, finding none. "Can we get back on our own? Was the inn along the main street, or the next one over? I think I drank too much."

You grunted at him, giving him a once over while sidling some paces away so he couldn't reach you even if he projectile vomited. His only response was to whine pitifully and apologize, once again closing that gap as you both swayed along the unpaved road, stirring up puffs of dust and sand that felt coarse in your throats when you'd laugh.

It wasn't as cold as it usually was at night, a simple thought that crossed your mind. You figured it was all because of your shift in good fortune for a change, the booze playing a secondary role in it. Maybe, you considered, it was also Vash's shoulder brushing against yours while you walked. For some reason, you noticed it so much more right now.

And so did he.

Trying to keep his mind elsewhere, on anything other than that slight pressure when you'd bump into him felt insurmountable in that moment. He let his eyes roam all around; noting the rusted street lamps with cloudy glass cages glowing a murky yellow, homes casting pillars of light into the streets through curtained windows, relishing how unaffected Lambertonville felt to everything outside of it.

It was the type of place he'd try to hang onto for as long as he could; days, a few weeks, a month at most with any luck. He would get to know names, the regulars at the bars, all of the local gossip and food. An impermanent haven where he could rest awhile and know you were safe.

Vash felt it then, yours and his knuckles touching, brief, but burning. The world spun around him a little too fast when he stepped away, opening the space between your bodies as much as he could, but managing to tangle his legs in a bucket that sent him staggering into the side of a building. He caught himself easily enough, the cold off the brick seeping through his skin and bone, straight to his nerves and spine.

He heard you call out. "Whoaaa, you okay?!"

"I'm good! I'm good!" he assured, raising a hand towards you as proof. It didn't stop you from trotting over anyway, nearly smacking into the wall yourself when your shin caught the very same bucket. "Are you good? I really think we overdid it tonight."

You edged along crumbling, ruddy brick with your shoulder, getting close enough to pluck one of the arms of his sunglasses from behind his ear and then the other. They were tucked away neatly in his coat pocket now, leaving you to fully see him bathed under a warm, faint glow from overhead.

"We're fine." You said, moving in until your chests just touched. "It was nice to have a few drinks with you."

Vash didn't know what to say, he didn't know what to do or think. All he knew is that he didn't want to move away, something kept his legs rooted there; waiting and anticipating, sending his heart into a frenzy against his ribs. And, when he felt your cold fingertips press into the sides of his face, guiding his head down to where your lips met his in fervor, everything went blank.

Your hands pushed divots into his skin, thumbs resting against the peaks of his cheekbones. The kiss was hard, leaving a searing imprint in his mind and on his lips. It was such an unfamiliar thing; the feeling, what he imagined a kiss was like, you so near in proximity he wanted to melt into the warmth shared between your bodies.

And, it was so quick. Just when he had gathered the nerve to reach for your shoulders, nursed the thought of kissing you back-- you pushed him away with a satisfied smile and gentle slap to both his cheeks.

He yelped, taking the chance to shield as much of the red blistering across his face as he could. "What- what was that for?!"

"That was for helping me out last night," you wagged a finger at him, stilling it midair. "For tonight too, actually. I just wanted to thank you for everything up until this point. I know following me around looking for plants isn't what you want to do. So, do me a favor and don't."

He wasn't processing what you were saying, troubled creases forming in his brow. "Where is this coming from?

"Oh," you scoffed, swiveling the balls of your feet, arms shooting out at your sides to catch your balance. "Don't worry about it. It's nothing. Let's make sure Wolfwood got back, and get some sleep. I have a feeling we're gonna have some nasty hangovers."

Three o'clock rolled around hours later and he was still thinking about what you said. Vash wasn't sure how much sleep he actually got before giving up, knowing he had spent most of the night thrashing on the mattress, making old boards underneath groan and squeal.

Wolfwood had made a point to hurl his wadded-up, dirty socks, and both loafers across the room, slurring out any expletive he could come up with when Vash moved around too much. After several minutes, things settled once again and Wolfwood's snores were a welcoming invitation for him to scoot his back upright against the headboard, eyes trained at the empty streets outside the window next to his bed.

Too much had happened in one day for him to be able to muddle through it all right now. More than anything else, he wanted to know what was going on with you; why you were so preoccupied with rumors of a place that may be conjured up by men on the verge of death-- a final deception from their brains to make the agony bearable.

'What did you figure out? Why won't you tell me?'

His eyes swept the moonlit streets. Unlike before where the street lamps faintly illuminated your paths to guide you back to the inn, the lights housed within walls of dingy glass had all extinguished, leaving just the pale glow from the binary moons to shine off of gabled, tin rooftops and the corners of metal signs swinging by rusty chains in the wind. Simultaneously an eerie, peaceful scene that did well to quiet his distress, until--

You came into view of the window, riding astride a fully saddled thomas with your duffle bags and belongings tied down behind your seat. A high-beam flashlight lit your way through town towards the looming archway leading out into the desert.

Vash came close to smashing his face against the window, his warm breath trembled and fogged over the glass. His mind started to race as he scrambled off of the bed, hobbling around creaky floorboards by the tips of his toes, slipping on socks and boots and his coat, cramming all his things into the tawny bag he had slung across his shoulder by the time he was closing the door behind him.

Why were you leaving without saying anything?

Why were you leaving without him?

Why were you being this way?

The thomas let out an agitated cry, stretching its long neck to peck at him as he tightened the girth around its undercarriage. He moved his fingers in time to avoid being bit, giving the large avian gentle shoves until it grew tired and relented to his weight soon settling on its back.

He ran the large beast for a long time, wondering just how far out you managed to get. A column of hot white light bounced across the dark ground, showing him tracks already being swallowed by sand and dust, carried by frigid southern currents. It wasn't until those same prints started to appear more vividly; newer until very fresh that the lines in his face smoothed with a wave of relief wracking his body.

You had finally slowed your thomas, giving it just enough rein so it could move its neck more freely. It stayed on path dutifully as you unfolded the map the drunk man in the bar had given you a short while ago. The paper opened more wide than tall, sprawling most of your arm span, and seemed to cover most of the explored territories on No Man's Land.

"So, next town is going to be Jukeblight." You spoke into the air, moving your wrist across the map, dulling your flashlight. "That's about three days. Yoke is--"

There was a sound. Rustling sand moving fast.

You whirled around in your seat, flashlight set to maximum and spinning around your body. It could've just been a bird, or a hive of worms that were startled by the noise, at worst a smaller sandworm looking for its dinner. It was all meant to keep your composure, though you immediately lost it when you flicked the light towards the right of you, snaring a flash of red in the glare.

Vash caught you by the side of your coat, keeping you in the saddle despite screaming and nearly falling off the other side. "Hey! It's me, it's just me!"

"Vash?!" you didn't know whether to be glad or throttle him. Either way, you slapped his hand off of you once he pulled you center in the saddle. "You're following me even though I told you not to?"

"It sounded more like a suggestion to me." He replied, gaze flicking towards the map now creased in the corners from your scare. You offered him a view with light, giving him time to study it. "How are we going to find New Oregon when it isn't even on the map?"

With the way he was already talking, you knew he would be in it for the long haul, dissuading him now would be impossible. "I'll catch you up to speed later. It's going to take us a month to get there."

Vash's jaw unhinged, emitting an airy groan in disbelief. "A month?! Seriously? You're- you're really being serious about this?"

"Of course," you said, tucking the map back into a satchel hanging off the side of your thomas' breastbone. "I've been serious about this since day one."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Vash never looked away from you. "We've got some really vague clues with no guarantee New Oregon is real. We could be just going around in circles."

Your eyes were fixed straight ahead stubbornly. "Then, wouldn't it be easier for you to go back?"

"I won't do that." He frowned. "I'm not going back without you."

This was a constant with him. No matter how hard you'd try to shake him off, turn him around, lose him-- he'd always find you, completely unperturbable regardless of your nastiest tactics and vitriolic comments. If anything you said to him left a lasting scar on his heart, he never showed it.

Still, it didn't stop you from trying time and time again.

"To be honest," you sighed, "I was hoping you would be drunk enough to just sleep through the night."

He gave you a reaction; mouth agape again, face twisted in despair, eyes gleaming in a way that nearly convinced you he would start to cry.

"That's the only reason you've been letting me drink with you?"

You tipped your chin down into the collar of your jacket, masking a smile trying to tug your lips. "Duh. I always forget how fast your body metabolizes everything under the suns, though. Being a plant has its benefits, I guess."

Vash turned away sharply, nose in the air, chest flouncing with one large puff of air. "That's a dirty move, even for you."

"Can you blame me?" he definitely thought he could, but bated his words, letting you finish first. Something shifted in your demeanor as your shoulders sunk a little deeper in the oversized coat, sweaty palms making the stiff reins squeal. "Will you be able to handle the pain of being there with me?"

His lips were forced thin and tight.

"A theoretical city that size doesn't run on just a handful of plants, Vash." You said quietly, voice above the distant howls of wind and skittering sand. "If we find it, there's no telling what we'll see."

It came back to these moments most days. They reminded him why you could be as elusive as you were towards him. One of his sisters in agony was hard enough, he didn't want to imagine dozens of them screaming at once; a cruel cacophony of suffering. And he would be the only one to bear it all.

"Vash?"

"I'm not sure." He was honest, a solemn gaze towards the horizon where dawn broke through the shroud of night, bringing with it a burning sky and the first warm breeze of the day. "I won't know until I'm standing there with them."

The conversation whittled away after that; you had nothing comforting you could say to him. It wasn't your thing, and it wasn't realistic given the nature of your work. He knew that just as well, perhaps it was the reason why the silence worked so well between you in these moments. It was amicable, calm, and easy; part of the reliable sameness that he sought out from you.

"So," he tried again after a while, venturing a curious look that you met with a tired one. "You didn't let anyone know you were leaving, did you?"

"Do you ever?"

He sputtered in embarrassment, hunching over his beast with a pout that made your nostrils flare when you laughed.

You grinned. "I left a note, actually."

"Really? A note?"

"Yeah." You said. "They have all the details they need to know. Maybe we'll cross paths with them again in the future."

Once again, the somewhat somber look returned to Vash's face. In some ways, it was bittersweet knowing that they wouldn't be able to follow you two anymore; their journeys would continue separate from your own. Your intention for leaving them behind was equal parts selfishness and love, something you would never freely acknowledge, but something he knew to be true.

He kept his thomas in stride alongside yours, flicking out the arms of his orange-tinted lenses as he set them on his nose and looked out towards the rising suns.

"Yeah, it'd be nice."

LATER...

The upstairs of the inn was steeped in chaos by eight in the morning. Heavy footfalls rattled the light fixtures in the downstairs dining room, frantic shouts traveled from individual rooms towards the main staircase as Meryl, Roberto, and Wolfwood stomped their way down with their things hardly in shape to travel.

"I- I can't believe they left us behind again!" Meryl didn't hide the flush of frustration on her face, fist overhand on her luggage as she yanked it through the front door towards the vehicle. "Why do they always do this?!"

Roberto didn't share the same urgency of the rookie, nor of Wolfwood's seething anger when he stormed past the front desk, thrusting down a brass room key for the terrified employee to take once he was out of the building entirely.

"Sorry about them," was all Roberto said, leaving his key behind as well, along with a few double-dollars in sympathy.

He climbed into the passenger seat a little later, tugging his seatbelt a few times to seal himself in. The flask tucked inside his worn, old blazer came out once Meryl put the van into drive and thrust her foot into the gas, making tires spin on sand before it lurched forward.

Roberto took his first sip of alcohol that day, swishing it around his gums a few times to let the burn dance in his mouth. "Ay, rookie, don't get so upset that you wreck."

"Just wait, just wait..." she chanted, her face screwed up in concentration.

Next, Roberto turned to look in the backseat at Wolfwood. The man continually fussed with his dark sunglasses slipping down his nose, teeth clenched around four crimped, unlit cigarettes.

"I knew that fuckin' brat was up to something." He spat his venom, foot tapping on the floor. "I'm gonna kill both of them when I get my hands on them. The fuck is their problem just bailing like that?"

Roberto faced forward in his seat, an arm hanging out the window as he took a larger swig this time.

He wasn't going to be the one to ask where they were going.

divider; @/anlian-aishang

this is a repeat from my deleted blog: cardeneiv.

please leave a comment and reblog if you enjoyed this! likes do not help spread the story around! id love to talk to y'all about this story 😭🥺