singillppl | October 2023 Test Drive Meme

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October 2023 Test Drive Meme

OCTOBER 2023 TDM

PROMPT ONE — ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST: A new group of arrivals find themselves lost in the frozen wilds and vulnerable to the dangers of nature. With luck, they make it to the town of Milton, and to a friendly face offering food, warmth and shelter — not to mention the fact they are not the first to come here.

PROMPT TWO — GUILTY PARTY: Interlopers are kidnapped and held captive by a being and forced to confess their wrong doings, or face fatal consequences.

PROMPT THREE — OFF THE BEATEN TRACK: Interlopers get more than they bargained for when a mysterious albeit friendly dog comes across them and persuades them to follow them into the wilds.

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

WHEN: Mid-October.
WHERE: Milton, Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential animal attacks, potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk.

'You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design.'

It’s the last thing you hear. A dark, deep voice. Impossibly ancient. You feel afraid. Maybe you’re dreaming, maybe you’re wide awake. You saw the lights, and then your world went dark. But you hear it in the blackness, you won’t forget those words.

You awaken. You are not where you were before. It’s different for everyone, there doesn’t seem to be much of a pattern in where you find yourself. You may open your eyes to find yourself in a cold, dim and dank cabin. The air is stale, dust hangs in the rays of weak sunlight that shine through the tiny windows. Someone lived here once, but they aren’t to be found. You look around, it seems like no one has been here in several weeks, maybe longer. The fire is stone cold, the dishes in the sink are mouldy — it's possible the place has been ransacked, as if they've gone through the drawers and cupboards looking for something. It is quiet. The wood creaks around you. Or perhaps you may awaken to find yourself shivering in the yawning maw of a cave, the freezing stone below you. Or maybe you’re unfortunate enough to sit up to find yourself lying in the snow, in the middle of the wilderness. Snow lies thick around you. It’s freezing out. You haven’t felt a cold like this before in your entire life. Cruel and biting. You have no idea where you are, and what’s worse — you are completely alone.

You may feel different, too. Any powers or magics you may have feel... absent. Disconnected. Things that may not have affected you previously now do. Something in you has changed.

You know you can’t stay where you are. You’ll need to move, try to work out where you are and how you came to be here. So you walk, head out into the unknown, in hope of finding a trail or a road. You’ll find one soon enough. It’s here you may find someone else in the same boat as yourself, equally freezing and confused. You’ll both need to keep going. It won’t be easy. You hear howls of wolves around you, and the terrain is difficult: slips and falls are likely. You’re completely vulnerable out here in the open.

Or it’s possible you may come across someone else here. Someone who looks far better prepared to deal with the freezing cold and frozen landscape, out hunting or gathering. They’ll likely offer help and get you into town. However, for the unlucky ones who don’t come across anyone, you’ll carry on until you see it: the lazy trail of smoke rising in the air. Fire. Not just one, but several. Civilization...?

Follow it, and soon enough the way you’ve taken will certainly become a path or road. Unfolding before you in the mountainous forests, you’ll see the most welcome of sights: a small mining town tucked up in the valley. Battered, rusted road signs will direct to “MILTON, POP. 947”. You’re almost there, you keep going, and it looks like other people have had the same idea as you. In fact, you’ll hear the muffled sounds of life. People! In the town!

As you head into the outskirts and then further into town, you’ll find it’s a little easier to walk but the cold has gripped you hard. You’ll find the buildings, both shops and homes, some are dark and lifeless, some of them are boarded up, some of them are occupied. People are going about their business, or stood watching from their tiny porches of their small, timber homes. For a town this big, there doesn’t seem to be many people. Several dozen at most, but no more.

Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building from which the biggest of the smoke trail rises: a school-house of sorts, or some kind of community hall. Perhaps both. You’ll find more and more people all drawn to this place, each and every one of them in the same position as yourself (and your companion, if you’ve found one). Some are in worse states than others: some are bloodied, nursing bite wounds or cuts; others might have some other kind of injury sustained in the journey here from falls. Others may look as if they could faint from the cold at any second.

The door opens, and you’re greeted by the gnarled, wizened face of an elderly man, dressed in thick furs. He has a kind face. He smiles warmly, and with pity, ushering you in with haste.

“Ah, more of you have come.” he nods, just as he suspected you might. “I am Methuselah. I welcome you Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. You are not the only one, the lights are changing things. Come. Mother Nature has not been kind to you, but there are plenty here to help.”

The room is dim, lit only by natural daylight through the windows. A roaring fire sits at one end of the huge hall. It crackles, bright and cheerful... and warm. Even as big as this place is, the room is pleasantly warm. You’ll also find basic cots set up down one side of the hall, and while it seems there's a few people already living here, there's enough space for those in need of them. There's places to rest for a moment and get your bearings, or just trying to recover from the cold. Down the other side are tables and chairs, and long tables laden with food, drinks and bottled water similar to one might find at a soup kitchen. Once again, Methuselah offers a feast, aided by some of the other Interlopers.

There are canisters with hot herbal teas and coffee, along with soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus some grilled fish, instant mashed potatoes, and tinned vegetables. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast. The old man has been busy. And Methuselah will continue to busy himself, still; there is plenty to do. He will fetch blankets, tend to wounds, serve food and drinks. He does not have much time to talk. More and more people seem to be coming in from the cold. He will not stop to sit and rest until everyone is seen to, taking up a place by the fire to gaze silently into its flames. He is troubled, thoughtful. The arrival of so many is not something that sits well with him. The others from town will eventually trail in too, to eat and warm themselves, and search amongst the new faces.

He will encourage newcomers to get warm and eat, and when they are ready to — they can explore the town and find one of the many empty homes to call their own. He will not speak much, but perhaps you might be able to get some answers from those fellow arrivals who’ve been in this place for some time now.

GUILTY PARTY

WHEN: Over the next month.
WHERE: Paradise Farm Outbuildings.
CONTENT WARNINGS: forced imprisonment; forced honesty; supernatural beings; confessional themes; threat of death; possible character death; possible death by throat injury.

You don’t remember how you came to be here. The air is cold and damp, the rot of wood is strong, and… blood. Why does it smell of so much blood? You can’t seem to see all that much in the gloom, but you think you’re in some kind of outbuilding of sorts. You find yourself chained to a chair, the metal is heavy and cold against you and no matter whatever you seem to do, you can’t seem to free yourself from them. No struggling can ease their hold, and there’s no lock to unpick or break. They weigh you down in your seat, you can't even seem to tip yourself over.

But you’re not the only one here. Across from you in the dark is someone else. One of your fellow Interlopers is trapped here with you, too. They too don’t remember anything either, they’re equally as confused and uncertain as you. Perhaps frightened. Not only this, they’re also sat chained up just as tightly. You have a little time to talk before you realise the two of you aren’t alone.

There's a glooming green light, the feeling of a presence. A huge figure steps into view, cloaked in black. It’s hard to tell whether it’s a man or a woman, and it’s difficult to make out much detail of them. Their face is obscured by a stone mask in the shape of a monstrous, horned and fanged Jackal. Green light glows from behind it, foreboding in the dark. It will not answer you if you try to speak with it.

“WICKEDNESS LIES WITHIN YOU.” The voice is a fierce chorus of whispers, but yet so loud. It sends a shiver down your spine. “I HAVE SEEN IT.”

... You can’t help but know it to be true. Something inside you knows what they speak of is true. Any misdeed or wrongdoing done by your hand, any cruel word you spoke, any life you took or heart you broke. You feel exposed, seen. The figure knows what you have done.

“CONFESS.” the figure demands. “UNBURDEN YOUR HEART AND BE FREE. BE SILENT AND CARRY IT TO THE GRAVE.”

The figure holds an item in its hand, something that glints in the light that glows from its mask. Now you realise why there’s so much blood in the air: it’s a sickle, dripping with blood. You are not the first to be brought here. You will not be the last.

Speak, unburden yourself, and if the figure is satisfied — you will, in fact, go free. Refuse, or not take the demand seriously, and the figure will deem you unworthy. They will move within the blink of an eye, striking you with the sickle in the neck — let it be a mercy that they kill you quickly.

OFF THE BEATEN TRACK

WHEN: Over the next month.
WHERE: Milton / Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural creature; trickster creature; themes of peril; possible character injury; possible dead body discoveries; potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk; possible character death.

The weather will continue to prove difficult for all who try to navigate this world, but with the current footfall in and around Milton, it’s at least helped to keep paths and roads somewhat clear despite the snow’s best efforts to cover up these walkways. Still, it’s a pain to get around, especially on particularly snowy days. Unfortunately, it’s sometimes necessary to go out on such days — survival doesn’t stop for the weather to pass.

And so journeys must be made, hunting must be done, forageables must be collected. You try to keep to the paths and trails, where the terrain yields before you for an easier journey.

… Until you hear barking through the trees, the sound of paws through the snow. Given the recent wolf activity of the last month, it’s understandable to be on edge. However, it isn’t a wolf that comes into view: it’s a large dog, bigger than any dog you’ve seen before. Coated in thick and shaggy black fur, this animal doesn’t seem to be like the wolves that have been found so far in this world. While the wildlife has certainly been altered, this dog remains very much like anyone would expect a dog to act in terms of behaviour. It’s playful with some, certainly friendly, constantly trying to play chase with you as it loops around in circles with a wagging tail.

However, there’s an insistence with this dog. It wants you to follow it. It will bark incessantly, trying to pull you from the path to go after it into the woods. It wants to show you something, take you somewhere. It will even try to gently pull at a coat-sleeve or trouser-leg to coax your forwards before heading off, keeping just in sight for you to go after it.

You’ll find it increasingly difficult to keep up, even if you pick up the pace as you head further into the woods. There’s less snow here, but the forest floor is filled with holes and tree roots that will trip you up. Falls are likely. But even worse is when before you know it, the ground simply gives way beneath you, sending you tumbling into a small valley or getting you stuck deep into soft, muddy earth. With it, perhaps, twisted ankles or worse. Or perhaps simply battered and bruised and unable to climb out of trench of earth. Maybe you come face to face with the body of some other poor Interloper who'd met their own end in similar manner — trapped and injured in the ditch.

Or worse still, the dog might just have you stumbling over a cliff face and tumbling into the Basin. Whatever fate befalls you, it’s as if the dog simply led you into it. And said dog, however, will be nowhere to be seen. It will have left you stuck, hurt, lost in the woods.

You’re sure you can hear some dark chuckling on the wind. Maybe it’s just the trees.

FAQs

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

1. Arrival threads can be treated as game canon.

2. Items characters have brought from home can be found either strewn around them when they awaken, or in the community hall — as if someone left them out for them to collect. Methuselah will not know how they got there, and will be quite bemused by the happenings.

3. Reminder that all characters are now depowered upon arrival. They can choose not to notice it at first, or can immediately sense something is different about them.

4. If asked any personal questions, Methuselah will smile and say "Oh, you don't want to know about an old man like me. But I have lived all over in these parts for all my life." He will be more concerned with trying to help Newcomers, and is genuinely concerned for them and their well-being. Other Interlopers will say much of the same — there's little to know about him.

5. More information about Milton can be found here.

GUILTY PARTY

1. Characters will find that once they have confessed, they will pass out. When they awaken, they will find themselves lying or sitting on the floor — the being, chairs and chains have gone. They are free to leave.

2. Attempts to search the outbuildings at later dates will prove fruitless. There is no sign of the being, nor the chairs or chains that held characters, but there will be blood on the floor that can be found.

3. One character can confess, or both. Player choice! As long as someone's doing some confessing.

OFF THE BEATEN TRACK

1. Gyests, sometimes called Ghests or Bargyests are evil creatures from Northumberland, UK folklore. They seek to lure travelers away from a known and safe road to their miry and marshy demise, or perhaps lead them to walk in the darkness of a Cheviot night over the edge of a precipice. Often taking the shape of horses, donkeys or large dogs, Gyests could also shape-shift to appear as men, or even stacks of hay. But always their intention was to trick humans, for their own amusement, and lure them to their doom.

2. Attempts to lure or trap the Gyest will not work.

TALES FROM THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES NEWSLETTER

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Vash will take that look of disapproval. As long as he's not getting shrugged off, he's content to keep pace and endure any displeased faces thrown his way, walking somewhat arm in arm. It's entirely so that Knives can't slip away from him so easily again and a part of him feels like if he doesn't hold on or stay near, Knives might vanish entirely from his life once more. By some miracle (questionable as it might be in this place) his brother has been returned to him and he's determined not to let Knives take the easy route out again. He's so, so tired and fed up with losing all those he cares about. ]

Not a good one, I'm afraid. [ The words turn his smile apologetic before he launches into an explanation. ] It seems to be Earth or some approximation of it. No one knows how or why, but an unknown force pulled all of us here from all across time and space, even from beyond the veil. And well...

[ There's a pointed up-and-down glance he gives his other self from around his brother's frame. ]

Seems like different dimensions too?

[ Hazarding a guess there if his suspicion is right and this is also "Vash". He likes himself a good science fiction story and as unrealistic and fantastical as they had always seemed — funny too in how they often got space travel wrong, his favorite bit — in this moment they sure seem more realistic than ever before. ]

The strange thing is that there's something that really doesn't want us here even though none of us asked for any of this and it—

[ Knives' voice cuts him off and diverts his attention, watching in surprise as his brother reaches out and roughly pulls the hood over his double's head. It promptly makes Vash interrupt himself in turn with an immediate chide of: ]

Gentle.

[ he can't help it; after more than a century of it, it is almost as natural as breathing. the fact that they are ... like him, alike but not, doesn't make a bit of difference in the way the smile slides into place - almost nearly perfectly, were it not for the way vash ducks his head to avoid his gaze sliding to the other's dark hair again. ] Ah, well...

[ probably, a little more down the line, when they are all been warmed up and rested, when his heart feels less like some small animal trapped in a cage and more a real thing, with real blood that runs and rushes with every beat, then maybe he'd be able to talk about it, ask any questions he may have and to answer in turn. but for now, he is just one piece of an incomplete circle drawn ungainly in the snow, trying to not catch his foot on any more stray hidden roots as he trails a little way along behind them.

the rough touch of knives' hand is an unexpected thing, if not already somewhat familiar for it happening a third time already. the pulling up of his hood makes him squawk, the force behind the motion (and the unfortunate timing of him stepping on some bit of hard, frozen sheet of ice) making vash tip precariously, his arms windmilling for balance before righting himself again. ]

No, don't tell him off- [ he means well, he thinks. his brother has always only ever meant well. ]

It's okay! Really!

[knives clicks his tongue, obviously annoyed at being scolded again. as if he wasn't being gentle enough, the worst of the poison lacing his attitude bled out between falling asleep for what he had hoped would be the last time and waking up here.

but his brother deserved more than these efforts, and thus the only reason he doesn't fight harder against vash's admonishment.

impulsively, his arm moves out to steady vash as he wobbles with a tight grip that he releases once the other isn't at risk for falling over again.]

He'll be frozen before we even get to the town. [okay maybe he will sound a little put off, wrinkling his nose at his own twin.]

[ Vash's answer to his other self's protest is swift, ignoring the clicking of his brother's tongue beside him. ]

Don't let him bully you! You can come walk next to me.

[ Once the other Vash is on steadier footing again, he makes a motion to beckon his double to his other side where he'll be safely out of Knives' easy reach. He gets that Knives means well — it's actually kind of endearing in a way — but he's not exactly known to show any gentle care in Vash's experiences and his almost-mirror image must be overwhelmed enough as it is. He puts to mind one of the fawns he's seen in the forest, lost and uncertain of every step without its herd, which is plenty understanding given current circumstances. It's also more than that though; perhaps a general uncertainty of one's place in the world. Plus it's not going to help him feel any less cold if his brother ends up knocking him over into the snow again.

He spares Knives an amused glance and gives his arm a slight squeeze at his twin's put off tone, gentling, before he addresses the other him again. ]

But he's right. Better to zip up your coat and here, wear this.

[ While keeping elbows locked with Knives, Vash peels off the glove on his flesh hand to offer his double. It's not much at all, but it will help provide a tiny bit of residual warmth and protection against the biting wind. ]

[ the grip is tight, with enough pressure to bruise the arm of any normal person - but vash is used to that. however harsh and incomprehensible knives' action might appear, there is at least a degree of care behind it; vash knows that well, which is why he doesn't even bat an eye (although he surreptitiously rubs at where he'd been grabbed as he straightens up, regaining his balance). he smiles, almost obligingly so, up at the other man - but a corner of his lips twist into a familiar shadow of a pout. ] I'm right here, you know.

[ don't talk about him as if he isn't here, or that he doesn't understand what you're saying, knives!

before knives can reply (or react with something else more physical), vash will scamper a few steps away, obligingly shifting to stand on the other side of his double. ]

It's not that far, right? [ surely if it was, then knives would have also been frozen a long time ago before he could come across him, in just that old blanket thrown over him ... but before he gets an answer to that particular question, or have a chance to ask any more, there is a glove being thrust at him. ]

Oh! [ his gaze slides between the article and the other's face, and vash looks almost ... surprised, maybe. something a little in between surprise and protest, at having to leave the other in any way inconvenienced ... but after a second of pause, he will reach out to take the glove, curling his fingers around it.

it's warm. ]

... Thank you.

[brat, he almost says it out loud, but the look he flicks the shorter plant says it clearly enough. vash can call him a bully, it's pretty spot on based on his past actions of the last century and a half-- but, whatever. let the brat freeze and vash can handle the consequences.

vash dances away from his reach, as if he would risk his brother's ire to shove the brat in the snowbank despite how tempting the idea is.]

Right.

[tone gruff and gaze straight ahead, he watches the distant curls of smoke rising over the little town that was their destination. the landscape spreads out like something in one of rem's photography books, pages once glossy and the corners curled up from age and use. the flat, rolling plains of no man's land in his memories sit in stark contrast to what he sees now, snow and cold biting through every layer. vash's presence at his side is warming, at least. enough to keep him from freezing completely.]

[ His amusement grows at his other self's response to Knives, only barely suppressing a chuckle when he darts over to his side. He hums his affirmation in concurrence with Knives' verbal reply and although his double definitely should still zip up his coat, Vash knows better than to press the issue when he knows his own stubbornness intimately well. His glove will have to suffice as the tiniest of band-aid solutions. The surprise at his offer is both expected in that Vash knows he must be used to doling out kindnesses without ever expecting any in return and unexpected in that the other Vash really should have expected this from himself. He's already braced for a protest that, thankfully, doesn't come after that pause. ]

Don't mention it.

[ He simply shoves his now bare hand into the pocket of his coat to keep it warm, not inconvenienced in the slightest. He has Knives on his other side providing warmth, too. ]

Methuselah has prepared a feast for everyone with our help. He's the only native survivor of the town, you'll like him. There's a nice fireplace and warm drinks and food. You'll be warm again before you know it!

[ He rambles on in reassurance before catching himself, trying to backtrack from Knives' interruption and— failing. ]

... Ah, what was I saying?

[ he can shove himself in the snowbank without anybody's help, thank you! if their first encounter earlier wasn't a sign enough ... but for the next few minutes, vash is content enough to just walk beside the other - sticking close enough to the two of them that vash isn't going to feel as though he needs to baby him, but far enough that he isn't necessarily intruding on whatever private chats they might want to have while they walk. ]

... You were saying that there's something here.

[ shivering as he steps over a mound of snow, vash tugs his coat closer around him. ] ... Something that doesn't want us here.

Can you ... um, if it's okay, I'd like to hear more about it.

[luckily for both vash and vash, knives doesn't have much of an interest in keeping up any private chats with his brother while they walk back towards the town. he has more of an interest in listening for anything that isn't the sounds of their footsteps in the snow, puffs of warm air being breathed out in small clouds, their voices chattering in conversation he's already been through. the continuously falling snow muffled the world around them, not at all like the sweltering deserts of no man's land where the winds blew songs over the sands and stones while carving out dunes that crumbled over and over.

the silence of snow here was deafening. his head twitches, eyes darting in the direction when a pile of snow drops from a pine tree, its branches heavy with the burden of falling snow.

vash had said there were wolves nearby and while knives has never seen one before personally, he knows well enough that in their situation a pack of predators would see them as a nice meal.]

[ The carefully maintained bit of distance is noted and... entirely unnecessary in Vash's opinion. He's had his (sort of) private moment with Knives and simply walking with their arms linked, having his brother's palpable presence by his side, is enough to appease him. Like this there won't be any vanishing acts the moment he looks away and so his attention readily goes to the curiosity that is his other self. He gives his double a semi-pointed look as he sticks out his free elbow in invitation, if not for the other Vash to take it and press close to be able to leech some body heat off of him, then to at least just walk right beside him. ]

Oh, right! Of course.

[ He takes a deep breath before he elaborates, his demeanor noticeably sobering and voice pitching lower in somber seriousness. He gives Vash the same spiel he'd given his brother, explaining how the presence that doesn't want them here has whispered to them to try and lure them to their deaths using their deepest fears and secrets that it somehow knows, how he suspects that same thing might be responsible for wiping out the town and how they'd found the bodies of said townsfolk when they first arrived and had to bury them. He also tells the story of how the residents' last moments — attacking each other or suddenly just dropping dead — were played out for them in the form of ghostly apparitions once the Aurora came. ]

They don't show up as often now since the lights in the sky have been appearing less, but they're still around. The Aurora doesn't seem to be a sign of good things. There's wolves, too. Not sure if those are related or if they were simply attracted to all the commotion, but they attacked the town. They've been driven back for the most part.

[ Knives' vigilance hasn't gone unnoticed though and his arm receives a reassuring squeeze. They should be safe this close to town. ]

[ the gesture definitely doesn't go unnoticed - but really, vash seeing something and vash acting upon it are two different fish in a pail, isn't it? you'll have to give him a minute or two, though (vash, i hope your arm doesn't get tired) as they continue to pick their path through the snow. after a moment, vash will relent and shuffle to zip up his coat, after trying to brush off most of the dirty snow that's been packed into the lining after his ignominious slide on the hill. it is only after that which he gingerly reaches out, tucking just the very ends of his fingers into the warm plush fabric of the other's coat, widening his stride to get caught up with them from having fallen slightly behind the two.

he turns his face away a little with an awkward, curious crook of lips - looking at the piles of snow lining the bare branches around them, or maybe he is similarly looking to catch a sight or a sound of something other than their presence - and his hand at vash's elbow is light, barely there, ready enough to fall away at the slightest indication of any annoyance or sign of him being a bother - but. but. for now. this is nice. maybe it's okay.

vash is quiet during the mostly one-sided conversation - with the other explaining what he'd seen and experienced in turn. if there is any sort of thoughts or reactions to it, he is masking it well so far, filling the uncomfortable silence from his end with a series of unassuming, little harmless noises - like slipping a little on seemingly hidden ice, or a muffled sneeze, and a myriad of other things besides. ]

... Is there a lot of people besides us?

Unfortunately.

[knives answers vash's question with a soft huff.] I doubt many will make it through the month.

[there was a time when there would be glee in those words, the thought of humans dying due to their own inability to adapt and survive in a merciless world amusing. it was easy to fall back into cruelty, ever increasing the distance between himself and humanity as a whole in order to see his visions of a future free from suffering.

but he had lost that war and lost his place in a world that rejected him. being dragged here must have been some higher power's idea of a joke and now he was forced to learn how to interact with those he would have been content see cut down without a second thought.

vash squeezes his arm and in turn knives nudges him with his elbow.]

The Aurora may affect him differently from us.

[blonde hair versus their dark black decay, he didn't want to see a lick of rot dye vash's head if he could help it.]

[ It's fine. With the way Vash has his hand in his pocket, he can leave his elbow sticking out to leave the invitation an open one. He's already plenty pleased when his other self finally relents and zips up his coat. (That delayed compliance reminds him, endearingly, a little of Lena and her wilful stubbornness.) It means he's extra pleased when tentative fingers do eventually tuck into the crook of his elbow and it shows in the brief, warm smile he flashes his double before he launches into his long recounting.

The eventual question and Knives' subsequent response has his expression turning sorrowful, voice subdued. ]

We arrived with around fifty to sixty people the first time around and we've already lost close to half of them.

[ So Knives isn't wrong. It's more than likely that their numbers will dwindle again even with the new arrivals. Living out here is simply that tough and their losses paint the starkest picture of just how much it takes to survive. The environment alone is brutal enough and it's not at all helped by the mysterious forces at play seeming hellbent on getting rid of them. In a sense, it's not too unlike how the humans must have felt back on No Man's Land. It's like a cruel cosmic joke that way.

His brother's nudge and statement snap him out of his plaintive thoughts, eyes going wide with the sudden alarming realization. ]

Oh! You're right, it might.

[ He glances at his other self, eyes lingering on his unruly mop of blonde hair, unable to keep his brows from furrowing in obvious concern. There isn't much he and Knives can do, drained of their powers as they are, but this Vash? It makes his stomach sink to even consider and he's reluctant to explain when it's knowledge that likely won't sit well. All the same... ]

The Aurora messes with electronics and the like and seems to affect us plants too. It's made me lose control every time it shows up.

[ of course he notices the difference in tone - something that has vash sneak a glance at knives from under the fall of his hair, hoping that it would go unnoticed with his other self acting as a barrier between them. there is a question crowded into the back of his throat; an urge, maybe, to childishly take hold of the others' shoulders and shake some answers out of them both - and maybe vash of years past, maybe even a week or two ago, might be able to. but there is tiredness etched onto the crinkled smile on vash's face, and there is not even a ripple of something familiar and vicious in the way knives' words fall flat; no ripples to be found at all. clearly, there is something different - that which goes further than their outward appearance, jet black against his own, yellow hair.

you are sick. i will remake you. i will make it better.

vash forces out a laugh, although the sound comes out wrong, like a cracking ice underfoot. maybe they will just write it off as nervousness, or better, trepidation at the prospect of such happening. he slides over knives' comment also - declining to comment on how he does it yet again, talking about him as though he wasn't here. ]

What do you mean, um, lose control?

Exactly what he said.

[the cutting tone he uses isn't meant to be cruel, but old habits die hard. his gaze moves from staring ahead to his brother's twin, looking from the mop of blonde hair down to meeting vash's own gaze.]

Have you experienced opening your gate yet?

[everything hinges on vash's answer. when knives knows the answer at the end of the road that detailed their lives, the cost of their power, he would be determined to spare another of their own the fate he shared now with his twin. maybe he wouldn't care so much if this were simply another independent, one that didn't share the name and face of his younger brother. he certainly didn't care about chronica and her other half, but the situation had been quite different then.]

In the company of our sisters, how do you respond?

[out of the three of them, knives held the most experience in harnessing their abilities. although such a realization would be something that would come to him later once he sussed out exactly what this little brother did and didn't know.]

[ His concerned frown deepens at the sound of that broken laugh, his face practically oozing sympathy. There's some confused curiosity there, too, because it's hard to imagine he would pretend to laugh at even just the notion of losing control over his powers. They've caused so much grief and devastation, his first response has always been terror. Maybe it is just nervousness, but Vash doesn't think that's quite it.

Before he can linger on it for very long, Knives' harsh voice cuts in and it's Vash's turn to nudge his brother's side with his elbow as a reminder of his previous chastising. Gentler still, please. It's a sore topic to be handled with care where Vash is concerned. ]

I can't hide what I am during the Aurora.

[ He offers as elaboration along with a wry little smile before falling silent and letting Knives carry the conversation with his questions. His brother is the one who's most knowledgeable where their gates are concerned. If anyone will know what to do, it's him. Twisted though it may be given their history, he might even be the only one who could stop anything from happening should the worst come to pass and the entirety of Milton be put at risk of becoming the next July. (If Knives can even do anything when his power is completely depleted, that is.)

Admittedly, Vash is curious and wants to know the answers as well, giving his other self an encouraging nod. ]

[ Have you experienced opening your gate yet?

the question catches him off guard, in a way that really only knives could do. it figures that his stumbling block is always going to be his brother - he's always been sharper and faster, the spikes of his mood rising and falling like piano keys that vash has struggled to follow along. knives or nai, dark hair or light, it makes no difference, it seems, to the way he keeps catching vash off guard and off kilter.

vash has no answers to that question. or maybe even if he hadn't locked it away and thrown the key down a dried up well and boarded it up and then ran a thousand iles in the other direction, it wouldn't have really mattered in the end. he's made up his mind even before he opens his mouth.

sorry, vash. this is honestly not the best time for this talk, even with all your subtle encouragement. ]

You seem to know all about it, so why don't you tell me?

[ he's never understood it. never even tried to understand it, being content with what little he can do, even if it was to only temporarily relieve them of their loneliness and pain and questions, so many questions, some warbled melody trickling like something molten and burning through the lines burnt into his skin. his hand twitches in the crook of vash's arm where it is caught up, almost as if he's getting ready to bolt; some frenetic energy building like fried nerve endings. ]

Why do you look different? [ to me. to us. to them. ]

[it is quite fortunate for their younger brother that there is a body between himself and knives because even with vash nudging at his side, his temper flares at the question like oil splashed over a fire. he clicks tongue, eyes narrowing down at vash.]

Would you like me to show you? [so cold it burns his tongue. it's almost a threat, as if he still has the power to do such a thing. but the flash of ire simmers down to the coals sitting heavy in his belly.] I can promise you would think twice about using that smart ass tone again.

[his free hand curls into a tight fist, one two three... clench and release, fingers flexing slowly at his side. phantom sensation of power coursing through him, palms hot with energy more unknown than known. there was still so much more knives could have learned, his reach stretching out across the stars without contest. if only, if only--

but there was no point in dwelling on everything that could have been. the war had been fought and lost, sand falling between his fingers no matter how hard he grasped. just as quickly as his anger flares, it dies down just as fast as exhaustion takes its place. a vicious cycle that should have set him into a grave if the world worked as it should, logically. he looks away. the town approaches.]

Our powers are not limitless. Black is the color of decay for our kind. If you continue to use your abilities, the well will run dry and you will die.

[ Vash can't really fault his other self for the back talk or even truly be surprised by it. Not too long ago, he would have snapped back in a similar manner as well. It's Knives and he can't expect his other self to know what he knows now. Whatever his story might be — different from his own or not — and wherever along his journey his double may be, he doesn't seem anywhere close to any kind of resolution and the same sore spots appear to remain. Before he can think of anything to say to smooth ruffled feathers and redirect the conversation to less treacherous waters, Knives is already speaking.

His icy tone alone makes his stomach sink and it downright plummets when the words themselves fully register, his heart and breathing alike picking up the pace unbidden. It's an empty threat. Probably. He doesn't actually know if Knives needs to tap into his gate in order to draw out Vash's, if that requires any active power when Knives has always done it so effortlessly with just a touch. Vash doesn't care to find out and he's certainly not going to give his brother the chance. Instinctively his grip tightens on both arms joined to his, the one on Knives' arm painfully so whereas the clench on Vash's fingers in the crook of his elbow is more protective. ]

Knives.

[ It isn't loud because it doesn't have to be. There's a quiet fury in his voice that is warning enough even if it's laced with just the slightest edge of panic that he can't quite hide. If his tone isn't enough, then it's plain on his face to see, too. His expression is somewhere between disapproving anger and stricken as though he's been dealt a physical blow as he glares at his twin. It's not as if he's expecting Knives to change overnight since his defeat, but that doesn't stop him from hoping for better. (Nothing ever does.) The gross violation of robbing Vash of all his bodily autonomy in that way is not something that should be referenced much less threatened with, idle or otherwise.

Where Knives' anger is quick to fade, Vash's lingers in the dangerous glint of his narrowed eyes; a silent promise there will be hell to pay if Knives persists and tries anything like that again. He does make sure to release some of the tension through a slow exhale and soften his expression before he looks at his double and chimes in on the answer to the question. ]

It's the end of the line for us.

[ protective or not, aggressive or not, neither of those things stop vash from pulling himself free, to take a step forward into both of their spaces with barely a moment to think. it's like earlier - moving without a thought, more on instinct than with any conscious intention behind it. ]

What- [ vash looks stricken, an echo of the expression on his other self - eyes wide and wild with a frantic hum of panic lifting like a song under his skin. his hands pat through the short shorn hairs at the edge of knives' temple, a nervous flutter of a movement that has fingers - cold skin and even colder zing of metal - skimming all along dark hair, brushing back the other's bangs - jet black, with no hint of colour. ] What do you mean?

[ even if the words themselves are arranged like a question, it isn't. the slow dawning horror on his face would say enough, even before he turns towards his other self. this time, when he reaches for him, there is none of the earlier awkward trepidation in his movement. vash takes hold of the other in a similar manner; cradling his face carefully, with a slight intake of breath, thumb pressing carefully at the corner of vash's eye just above the mark before stealing into his hair. with such direct contact, the thrumming of veins that are not veins feels more apparent - it makes him feel unsteady, kind of dizzying in the way that vertigo is, that tethering at the edge of a cliff is, so it doesn't last for long - in the next breath and blink pulling away with a shaky, odd sound in the back of his teeth. ]

Are you ... Okay?

[ it sounds so stupid, even when he says it. they are here, aren't they? they are here. he is here, with the echo still tingling through the ends of his fingers. ]

[the threat, empty as it is, is a mistake and knives knows this the moment it leaves his lips. doubly so as vash reacts to it at his side, the grip on his arm tightening to a bruising strength that knives hopes will leave a lasting mark. vash could break his arm at the junction and knives would have let him take his pound of flesh without a fight. the layers of power and experiences that had once separated them, tinted glass obscuring knives' vision to the truth of his actions and their consequences were gone now. everything was terribly clear, his brother's fear as vivid as a nightmare. he feels guilt and shame, all rolled up and twisted together so terribly he couldn't hope to separate the chains.

vash, for whatever reason, expected better from him and he wished he didn't. at least then the disappointment would be understandable.

he can feel the way his brother's glare bores into him, knives' looking away to avoid burning up under its intensity. now would be a great time for a wolf attack, but even that would be too kind of the universe. he's ready to withdraw into himself, cowed by his brother's wild fury, but any chance of that is knocked out of the water when vash - blonde, bright-eyed, and smart mouth - steps in front of them. knives can't immediately parse what it is he's seeing written across his face, can't distinguish between what he feels falling off of his twin in uncomfortable waves at his side and the frantic, wide-eyed concern vash is presenting to them now.]

What? [he's cut off on the exhale, his mind bluescreening as hands reach out to touch, carding through coal black hair. an animal caught in the headlights of a touch far too soft for the vitriol he just spewed without thinking, flesh and metal brushing over skin and leaving a flush to bloom across his features. he stares back at vash, unable to formulate a response, but then he's moving away to reach out to his twin in turn and knives is left unmoored at sea. waves of emotion battering at him on all sides, his heart pounding so hard his head throbs with it.]

[ He's half-expecting for those fingers tucked into his elbow to disappear so Vash isn't surprised when they do. What does surprise him is how his other self moves in front of them with that panic-stricken expression, halting them in their tracks. Vash is left feeling like he missed something crucial when his double proceeds to reach for Knives, fingers dancing through the ichor black of his hair. Vash can only stare in bewildered wonder as it happens. That the news must come as a shock is to be expected. Neither he nor Knives learned what the changing of their hair meant until it was too late and by that point there was no turning back. Vash hadn't particularly cared, carrying on with the conviction that he would kill his brother and die along with him if neither of them burned out along the way first. Would he have cared more if he'd learned of their limits sooner and fretted over Knives the way the other Vash is doing now? Probably not. There had been a lot more genuine hate he held for his brother in the past.

So, knowing that and given his brother's cruel words mere moments before, his double's actions come as a bit of an incomprehensible shock.

Although the most shocking part yet is when that selfsame frenetic attention is turned to him and he finds himself being inspected much in the same way his twin just was. Vash goes still, both in surprise and because it feels like he should so he dutifully doesn't move, blinking under the onslaught of careful fingers darting from his face to his hair as he stares at wide blue eyes dulled by orange lenses. The thing that lives underneath his skin only cares to answer to the Aurora's call now and yet Vash could swear he feels it stir now, responding perhaps to its own kind or the presence of an active gate. Before he can figure out if it's his imagination or not, the touch is gone again as abruptly as it came.

In its wake, he feels as stunned and disarmed as Knives looks. Only he's quicker to recover because there's something about the sound his other self makes and the desperate concern on his face that breaks Vash's heart. Maybe he and Knives have been too callous, weary and exhausted as they both are, and they should have gone about this with more tact. The hurt they inflicted just now won't do.

He lifts his arms and reaches out — in doing so releasing the too-tight hold on Knives' arm though still keeping it somewhat tucked against his side — to mirror his newfound brother's previous action. He cradles his other self's face between his hands with equal care, the smile he offers soft and apologetic, before he leans in and presses their foreheads together. His attempt to comfort is the same manner in which he soothes his sisters. Or rather, the way he would if there wasn't thick glass separating him from them. It's all he can think to do to convey his sincerity, voice going quiet and gentle to account for their proximity. ]

We're okay, I promise.

[ They're here. They're alive. His other self doesn't need to know that Knives is meant to be gone, that he has returned from the dead. ]

We just can't use our powers anymore, that's all.

[ That's all. ]

[ those words have been sharp - cruel and vicious, dripping with emotions that's had centuries to rot and fester as only knives could really do. there would have been days when confronting it head on like this would have made vash run in the other direction as fast as he is able, running until his legs gave out. there would have been days when fear would have spiked cold and sharp in his bones to reach out to his brother like this, love and terror and hate mixed in so much confusing swirls that he wouldn't know what to do other then tell him to stop. please stop. his teeth rattles. his heart jumps in the cage of his scarred ribs like snarled rabbit, buzzing like staccato drum beats in his ears, and vash clenches his eyes shut tightly with a shake of his head to dispel it somehow.

we're okay. we're here.

the hands that come to cradle his face should make him jump. the feeling of being held, to be fixed down like this to one place within the cage of vash on one side, knives on the other, just at the edge of his peripherals, should make him start and wriggle out of the hold. but instead vash finds himself reaching out too, fingers winding themselves tightly to the front of the other's coat as vash presses their foreheads together. dark strands mixing with the gold.

it feels familiar, in a way. vash can feel a faint echo of the song they share reverberating through the scant contact like the gentle humming of an engine, the way he'd used to lean against nai with their backs pressed to the walls of the ship. the way the vibrations would travel through his hands pressed into the grass of their eden. the way the glass would trill, their sisters glowing blue, blue. however faint, it feels like life. they're alive. they're here. ]

[he shouldn't be here.

not here, not in this moment, or any moment after this. cruelty comes easy to him, whether he wanted it to or not, spending his life biting every hand that came too close. there was no erasing what he's done and the damage it has caused and he knew better than to waste effort trying to color over the past.

vash wanted him here, still holding onto knives even after snapping like a dog, teeth all stained with blood and angry foam. a lifetime of living on the highs of manic emotion and avoiding the low swinging pendulum of anxiety wouldn't last forever and now he was here, the weight of guilt sitting heavy inside his chest. he looks away from the display between the two, the static warmth left behind by vash's fingers on his face still tingling.]

We need to keep moving.

[his voice is quieter, diluted down from his earlier irritation. now he'd wait for vash and vash to finish. idly, he thinks they'll have to come up with a way to refer to both without confusing one for the other...

an issue to deal with later.]

[ It's not a full resonance, there's no open channel for Vash to pour soothing thoughts and feelings through and thus no way to brush his mind against another, but there's the humming of a response he can feel under his skin, however faint, and that's enough. It will have to be because Vash isn't sure he should even attempt anything more than this; his powers have always been too unpredictable, his gate too eager to consume, and he's assuming the same for his double. At least there's a comforting familiarity to what their contact brings and if he closes his eyes and solely focuses on it, he thinks he could maybe hum along to the reverberation and vocalize it. It's tempting to do so. He still remembers what it's like for Rem to pull them close and sing to them, how it would calm them.

But Knives' quiet voice cuts in, a stark reminder of their circumstances. Comfort is not going to help keep his other self from getting frostbite.

He tilts his head back a tiny bit to get a better angle to look at Vash without breaking the contact. His voice goes softer still when he speaks again, meant only for his facsimile, like he's letting him in on a secret. ]

We're going to be alright.

[ They don't really have a choice in the matter. Somehow, some way, they will go on. They always do. They are Vash the Stampede, after all. Their life isn't theirs to forfeit, not really. For all that his hair is stained with rot and decay, he still has some go in him yet. Now that he has Knives back, he's not going to let his brother slip away again so easily either. Whatever happens here and whatever his other self might gleam from him and Knives, he's going to be okay, too. Their tough and tender days will continue on in these foreign lands.

His thumbs follow the lines of cheekbones in a gentle caress before Vash drops his hands down to the desperate ones that are clutching at his coat, lightly covering them to have some lingering tether as he reluctantly pulls back. His expression is one of aching understanding, nearly turning his warm smile rueful. ]

Knives is right. We're almost there.

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skelters - 2023-12-02 11:12 (UTC) - Expand

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