October 2023 Test Drive Meme

[singmod]

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

Comments

[brutalact]

[he wishes he was dead. if only he was dead, gone out with less than a whisper to expose his passing. it was the easy way out, which felt ridiculous when put into such simple words, but the truth was pretty absurd if he thought about it long enough.

when he finally meets vash's gaze, he finds himself surprised by what he sees in his brother - eyes widening briefly before something akin to resignation softens his brow. vash's shoulder is sturdy and warm under his palm, an indication of life when knives wishes he found none.

it would mean he was alive, too, despite everything.]

I did what I could for you.

[finally, acknowledgement. his fingers curl into a fist against his shoulder before knives lets his hand drop away, still tightly fisted. the pain is grounding, but it isn't enough. nothing would be enough for what he deserved. his other hand slowly relaxes its grip on sweater fabric, briefly twitching as he considers smoothing away the wrinkles he left behind but ultimately aborts the motion. even the smallest comforts he could give his brother were unworthy.]

There was nothing left for me.

[amo]

[ The acknowledging response he finally gets isn't one that does anything to assuage his growing annoyance. On the contrary, it only fans the flames of his anger all the more. If Knives thinks he'll be fooled by excuses and platitudes, he'll have to think again. ]

Did you now?

[ It's meant to be scathing with a fierce glare to match, but the effect is rather ruined by the tears that have started gathering in the corner of his eyes which he's stubbornly refusing to let fall. His grip is loose enough that Knives' hand falls away from both his shoulder and his grasp even though his prosthetic hand tightens around Knives' other wrist in some subconscious response as he presses on, gathering steam as he launches into a tirade. ]

I told you we were flying away together and you left me alone — again, mind you — to deal with the mess you've made! How was that for my benefit? You were just running away like the coward you really are.

[ With every word spoken, a little bit of anger is peeled away, his composure crumbling fast. Vash knows he can't keep it together anymore, too much that he's been bottling up coming up to the surface, and in a bid to at least hide his face as the tears spill over, he lets go of Knives' wrist and throws his arms around him instead to latch on tight and bury his face in his shoulder. The emotion that's at the root of his indignation and fury reveals itself, turning his voice tight and very quiet as it bleeds out into his tone and demeanor, shoulders shaking. It's one very simple emotion: hurt. ]

There was me.

[brutalact]

I know.

[his voice is quiet, low in his admission; a hopeless coward, turning tail when he finally came upon the end. vash had been right all along, but that was hardly a surprise. his brother had always been terribly keen when it came to picking out the ugly, hidden traits knives kept buried deep. now those graves had been unearthed, leaving knives with dirt caked under his nails as he stood among the mess he could blame on no one but himself.

vash had tried and succeeded where knives had tried and failed. there was nothing left for him in a world that he had ruined, no place left for the greatest sinner to walk those familiar sands.

the sight of tears twists something sharp inside his hollowed chest, the ache so sharp and physically his breathing stutters on the inhale. this, too, was his fault. he stands silent as vash barrages him with weepy fury. his hands twitch at his sides, awkward instinct to reach out and attempt some modicum of comfort, but the gears are rusted and bent out of shape. he doesn't know what to do with himself like this.]

Vash...-

[the noose around his heart tightens painfully as vash suddenly throws his arms around him, knocking the air from his lungs. his gaze kicks towards the ceiling, widened in momentary surprise. the last time they'd been this close -

'we'll fly away together'

he doesn't need to feel the growing wet patch on his shoulder to know vash is crying when he can feel the hitching sobs reverberate through his heartbeat, now so close it feels like a hammer against his chest. knives knows what he needs to say, what vash deserves to hear, but the apology lodges itself in his throat. sharp barbs catching at the soft flesh until all he can taste is blood on each painful swallow. instead, when the words fail him, he wills his arms to move and wrap around vash in turn. it's awkward and he feels as unsteady as a newborn, but they hold his brother just as tightly after a moment's hesitation. his eyes stick to the vaulted ceiling and brings one hand up to thread fingers into vash's matte black hair, nails lightly scratching over his scalp.]

[amo]

[ Vash already has little hope of stopping the proverbial floodgates now that they've opened, but that herculean task becomes downright impossible when arms come up and return his embrace — tentative at first and then tight enough to rival his own fervent grip. The fingers that find their way into his hair and scratch pleasantly at his scalp only serve to further undo him, the action somehow emotionally damaging him while simultaneously soothing that hurt at the same time. He hasn't been held and comforted like this in— forever. His whole body shakes with his choking sobs, the lump in his throat not allowing him to speak or to even produce much sound beyond his hitching breaths and pathetic sniffles.

'Wasn't I enough?' is a question he wants to ask and yet doesn't want to know the answer to even if he gets the feeling he already does. Neither he nor Rem were ever good enough to quench his fear-driven ambition, why would that change at the end of his crusade? For someone who claimed to have done every horrible thing he did for family, he sure wouldn't stick around for them. (It had never been about family. Not really.) It's not as if Vash doesn't understand and maybe he can't even truly fault Knives for choosing the easy way out. After all, he'd tried to do the same once in the deepest depths of his despair and he would have left Knives behind if he'd succeeded. In fact, he wouldn't be here now if it weren't for Rem's intervention. So he gets it, he really does, yet it does nothing to erase the hurt of being left behind yet again, of his brother breaking away at every turn, of never getting to hold on to anyone he cares about.

It takes a good moment of clinging and quietly sobbing into his brother's shoulder before his heaving sobs eventually abate in intensity, the tightness in his throat and lungs easing enough for him to get the air he needs to find his voice again. Rather than ask the question that haunts him, he settles for a soft, sullen mutter of: ]

You're so stupid...

[ For even thinking that there would be nothing left for him and in doing so, forgetting Rem's most important lesson. ]

[brutalact]

[over a hundred and fifty years knives had spent spilling contemptuous vitriol aimed at humanity, acid-laced and dangerously afraid. he had gotten pretty good at keeping everything bottled up nice and tight, the blinders he wore to keep out all distractions from the road he'd chosen to walk did their duty. the world would have burned and he would have never looked back, deaf against the consequences. what he would have gained would have been worth every instance of ruthless determination, a mantra he told himself countless times over those long years.

at the end of everything and all he had to show for it was a scorched earth and his brother in the middle of it all, endlessly stubborn and unwilling to give knives what he so desperately wanted while refusing to let go. it would have been easier for them both if vash simply let him go, but his brother never made anything easy.

vash's sobs soften into whimpers and knives is sure whenever he pulls away there will be a gross wet splotch of tears and snot staining his shoulder. his fingers keep working in vash's hair and idly in the back of his thoughts he notes how his hair still holds the same texture it did when they were children.]

Yeah. I know.

[there's no room for argument and he isn't interested in making his case any longer. the war was over, he had lost, and now he was forced to contend with all the thoughts and emotions he'd hoped he would never deal with again with the promise of death and an apple tree. he heaves a sigh and softly knocks his head against vash's, dark hair tickling his cheek.]

Who's the crybaby now?

[despite his attempts at teasing, his voice is tight with emotion. as much as he tries to appear unaffected and distant, vash always has a way of reaching in between his ribs and grabbing at the softened, bruised muscle.]

[amo]

[ Such easy concession from Knives is both a relief and unsettlingly foreign. So used is he to being at odds with his brother about pretty much everything that even such a small admittance is a curious wonder. It almost feels wrong after so long. But then Knives gently knocks their heads together and something about it — the soft affection of the bump adding to that of the insistent fingers in his hair — is just so familiar and dear, Vash wants to burst out into a fresh wave of tears all over again. It's not something he thought they could ever have again. The expectation had always been that they would leave the world in a blaze of violence, going out while fighting one another, dying at the other's hands. It's the only end Vash had been able to imagine for them for the majority of his long life; the only plausible ending to their story, leaving the same way they'd entered this life: together. He'd defied his own expectation in the end when he'd remembered Rem's dying wish ('don't leave Knives on his own') and Knives had carried his intention onward when he couldn't and saved his life.

There had been hope in the moment that they took to the skies that something like this might be possible, a chance to finally work towards a reconciliation long overdue. Except Knives had left and taken that possibility with him. All that had remained was Knives' blessing and apology in the form of an apple tree and Vash, empty-handed and alone again.

Until now.

The weak attempt at teasing gets a wet snort out of Vash. ]

Someone has to be.

[ Between the two of them, that is. A role they've passed from one to the other that they can't seem to ever drop fully. Once it had been Knives who wore his heart on his sleeve, so full of optimistic hope and too many emotions that his small body couldn't contain them without spilling over. Then they found out about Tesla and their roles reversed, Knives closing himself off and hiding his feelings, never to shed a tear again where Vash could see.

The tightness in Knives' voice and morbid curiosity has Vash loosening his grip slightly so that he can lean back just enough to look at his brother's face, his own a tear-streaked, snotty mess and looking every bit the crybaby he's accused of being. The way he squints his puffy eyes is meant to be accusing. In reality, he just looks miserable and pathetic. ]

It might help if you stopped bottling everything up too, y'know.

[brutalact]

[miserable and pathetic is an apt description of what knives sees when vash huffs at him. he feels his fingers twitch and the thought of bringing the edge of his cloak up to wipe away at the mess his brother made of his face comes to mind, tempting. it would be a kindness, too tender from someone like him when every touch he laid upon vash was cutting. in the end his hands stay where they are, leaving vash to look as pathetic and miserable as knives feels.

his eyes are free from tears, but there's a tension there that reveals his restraint from bowing under the weight of pesky emotions. after so many years he'd gotten pretty good at keeping himself in check, stuffing down weakness in favor of righteous fury. looking back on it now it really was only a matter of time before that fire burned down to hot coals, leaving behind everything he wanted so very desperately to forget.]

So I can look like you do right now? [he gives a humorless snort, his hand in vash's hair twitching, tempted again to brush over his cheeks and smooth away that puffiness, before it falls away to rest against vash's forearm.]

There's nothing left to bottle up.

[amo]

[ Vash knows he should make some effort to wipe his face, but he feels far too disinclined to let go of Knives. He's so warm and solid in the circle of his arms — undeniable proof that he's really here and not some figment of his wishful imagination or a cruel apparition conjured up by this place — and he's not ready to let go just yet. He's used to looking like a pathetic mess one way or the other anyway. At least he's not sobbing anymore. There's only his sniffles and some stray tears that still roll slowly down his cheeks that remain.

Although it's been many years and there's a rift as wide as the vast deserts stretched across No Man's Land between them, Vash finds he can still read Knives just fine. The exhaustion and emotional strain is written all over his face. It's what Vash focuses on to distract from the pang of loss he feels when the hand leaves his hair, the soothing scratches no more. What Knives says and how he looks are at odds with one another and that doesn't really come as a surprise. His brother turned out far too stubborn and prideful for his own good.

Vash raises an eyebrow at him, still managing to convey obvious skepticism despite the state he's in. ]

No? Nothing at all you're feeling and not expressing right now?

[ He pulls back one arm, flesh hand coming to touch Knives' cheek with the back of one knuckle as if Vash is wiping away an imaginary tear; the gesture old and reminiscent of much simpler times. They can't ever go back to what they once were, they're far too changed and no longer the same persons they were as children, but Vash wants to believe there's still something left of the sweet crybaby he once knew somewhere beneath the put-together mask and all that tight control. ]

[brutalact]

[under vash's scrutinizing stare, knives' eyes dart away. of course he could see right through him, regardless of what kind of mask he tries to pull over his face. his brother was just as guilty of pretending as he was. still, that didn't mean he wanted to see that vulnerability reflected back at him in those familiar blue eyes, unable to hide in the way he has for the last century and a half.

vash was right; he was a coward.

he represses a flinch as vash brushes over his cheek, the ghosts of old emotions ready to thrash against their constraints at the first hint of weakness. even now vash was too soft, too understanding, that each gentle touch felt akin to razors slicing across his skin. his eyes burn, but stubbornly they stay dry of tears.]

Is this really the conversation we should be having now?

[because he can think of plenty of other topics to discuss right now, rather than something that hurts to talk about.]

[amo]

[ Vash could argue that it is. That after everything, now beating all the odds and being reunited even after death while being far away from where they would be hunted down for who they are, it's the perfect conversation to have. With nothing to lose anymore, they can finally sit down and lay all cards on the table, talk about how they feel at the end of their long struggle so that they can find a way forward. Together. Because there is no way he's going to let Knives slip away from him again, regardless of what his brother might want. There will be no apple trees this time.

But maybe not here in the community hall, surrounded by so many strangers. The world around them comes filtering back in, the sound of chatter and eating heard over the pounding of his heart and sad sniffling, making Vash too aware of where they are. He might not have any real qualms about being seen as the pathetic teary mess he looks like currently — lacking any pride whatsoever — but he'll take mercy on his much more prideful brother. ]

Sorry. You must be very confused.

[ He reluctantly pulls back further, though he doesn't let go of Knives entirely. Instead his hands come to rest on his shoulders, keeping a tether between them. The contact is grounding as Vash takes a moment to close his eyes and take a deep shuddering breath, doing his best to compose himself and reach for some modicum of calmness. There's a lot he should probably explain and he's not even sure where to start, so when he opens his eyes again in defiance of sticky, wet eyelashes it's with a soft: ]

Ask away.

[brutalact]

[confused didn't even begin to cover the broad range of emotions knives was feeling regarding this entire situation now. he scans vash's face as his brother tries to reign in the torrential waves of tears that spilled freely; how many times has he seen his brother in states worse than this and yet now such an image felt like an unstoppable blow to his core. he'd spent his life running from everything that hurt, but now with nowhere left to go...]

I was dead, Vash.

[a terrible truth, one that sat at the source for his brother's tears. his hand twitches again to reach out and clean away his face, an old habit buried under dust and disuse from their childhood. instead he focuses on the weight of vash's hands resting across his shoulders. whatever he may feel right now, he knows if they were to break this tether the separation would be agonizing. knives exhales a tired sigh, eyes closing briefly. if he looked as exhaustive as he felt then they really were a sight to behold here.]

Tell me everything. How long... how long has it been for you? [since he left him behind, again.] Was that doctor able to help you?

[amo]

[ He doesn't flinch at the plainly stated awful truth, but it's a near thing and his gaze does drop for a few seconds as Vash inclines his head in the tiniest of nods. When he looks back up, it's to see Knives looking so very tired with that same bone-deep weariness that Vash knows all too well. It makes his heart ache with sympathy to see. It's not the sort of exhaustion that sleep could ever fix and yet he's struck with the urge to usher him off to bed as though they're children again all the same. Sleep wouldn't help, but it wouldn't hurt either. The time for curling up together or sitting by one another's bedside talking in quiet voices until either one of them drifted off first has been over for a very, very long time though.

He's asked to tell him everything and so Vash will. He briefly removes one hand from Knives' shoulder — unwilling to break the tether entirely for even the briefest of moments — to give his face a cursory wipe with the sleeve of his sweater so he can look a smidge less of a mess before he starts talking. ]

It's been over half a year. Close to eight months now, I think? Dr. Bond and Carlito took very good care of me, but I had to leave them when the Earth Federation Security Forces came knocking on their doorstep looking for us. Luckily I could draw them away before they did any damage to their home.

[ He looks wry and sheepish about it, but Knives will probably understand that he hadn't wanted to repay the doctor's kindness with a hail of Earth Force bullets. He had to leave them behind. ]

I was on the run when I suddenly woke up here. It's been almost two months since then and it's been... interesting.

[ Wryness makes way for something closer to a grimace, making it obvious it's an understatement and not the good kind of interesting. ]

[brutalact]

[time flew by for beings such as themselves, a year or two meaning nothing while the lives of creatures around them rose and fell into the earth's stifling embrace. there's a displeasing tick to his brow when vash mentions the earth federation, old anger coiling inside his chest. everything should have ended with his death, vash deserving of a life free from the endless hunt for every pound of flesh vash had left to his name.

if he stayed behind instead of letting himself go, running away yet again, maybe he could have ensured vash a peaceful life. it was him the federation wanted, the one to threaten non-plant life across the galaxies and shake their bruising control enough to have them chasing after him to the dustiest corner of their shitty planet.

should have, could have, would have-- meaningless platitudes now when in the end vash is the one to bear the brunt of his brother's actions. he looks as if he could say some colorful words about the federation and their actions, but he swallows them back to stew sourly in his gut.]

Interesting how?

[there's nothing he can do about no man's land, but at least here maybe... some kind of purpose can be found. even if it's ensuring his foolish brother suffers as little as possible. knives watches vash clean away his face and unthinkingly, he reaches up to thumb away a few tear tracks gathered at vash's jawline. his touch is soft, close to delicate as he gathers damp salt on his thumbpad.]

Are you safe here?

[amo]

[ His brother's displeasure at the mere mention of the Earth Federation doesn't go unnoticed, but Vash doesn't comment on it. They're far away from them now; a problem in another place and another time. Besides, there are worse things than the Earth Forces to deal with here and he hasn't gotten to explaining them yet. There's a lot there to tell that makes this place "interesting" as he so mildly put it. Most of it he doesn't even really understand himself despite the time he's spend here already, the answers eluding all of the Interlopers who have found themselves in Milton and it's snowy surroundings.

He's pondering how to tie it all together when Knives reaches up towards his face. If he wasn't so caught up in his thoughts, he might have flinched on ingrained reflex, but instead he goes still as Knives' thumb connects with his jaw in a touch more gentle than any he's gotten in decades from his brother. In an older, previously forgotten habit, he leans into it just slightly, lashes going low in both thought and with the urge to close them. ]

I don't think any of us are.

[ He admits honestly. Setting aside that survival here is just as rough as it was on No Man's Land — just in the polar opposite of extreme, harsh conditions — there's a lot more to contend with. ]

Something terrible happened here that killed everyone. Possibly it's the same unknown force that brought us to this place or maybe it's something different entirely, but it doesn't want us here. It speaks to us, somehow seeming to know everything about us down to our darkest secrets, and uses that to... well, lure people to their deaths by their own hands.

[ To put it somewhat delicately. He lets a soft sigh slip past his lips, weariness bleeding in. ]

That's not even starting on the ghosts, the wolves, and the strange lights in the skies that affect all electronics and power. Including us plants, apparently.

[brutalact]

[the touch lasts all of a single moment before his fingers curl away from vash's jaw and into a loose fist, letting it fall to rest against his shoulder. every motion, every action and inaction held such tremendous weight between them, too many ruminating thoughts crowding his mind that would surely lead to some kind of headache later. there was still so much they needed to talk about, but knives wondered if it would be for vash's benefit or his own. perhaps it was best some things were left untouched from where they fell in the century and a half separating them.

vash looked... tired and knives is stricken suddenly with the want to fix that. yet judging by what vash is saying, listening along silently, it seems that won't be entirely possible. another burden to carry.]

Affect us how?

[their powers were drained to the very last drop, knives' own well of energy completely dried with his last act of penance. when he looked within himself he found nothing but phantom sensations of power long gone and he knew the same could be said for vash.

... at least he hoped vash couldn't tap into their ancestral power now.]

[amo]

[ The spot where Knives touched is left vaguely tingling in the wake of warm fingers. There's a certain hyper-awareness of all the places they connect that Vash can't shake. Once upon a time, so very long ago, reaching for one another had been as easy and unthinking as breathing. Another time Knives' touch (if not very presence) meant terror and a gross violation of Vash's autonomy. What remains now is just tentative hands on shoulders; an uncertainty of where exactly they stand after everything said and done seeping through the cracks. Vash clings stubbornly to the joy of reunion, of finally having the one other person who is just like him back in his life when he'd been left achingly lonely, and so he remains right where he is in Knives' space, feeling him alive under his hands.

The question makes him drop his gaze as he considers how to answer in a way that's not immediately alarming. That, and because the loss of control over his powers is something of a sore subject for him and having to admit to it happening again when he'd finally, finally managed to master it before does not sit well with him. Especially given who he's admitting it to, but Knives deserves to know. The Aurora might affect him too. ]

It made me lose control, but not in a way that forced me to spend the last of my power. It was more like... drawing out my true nature for the world to see? Lots of wings and feathers everywhere. Mostly it was just really inconvenient.

[ There's a weak attempt at a titter of a laugh that he's quick to drop. There's no brushing off the real danger that comes with visibly being something other. The few people he'd accidentally encountered while in a changed state had ultimately been unbothered enough to tolerate his presence, but there's always those who shoot first and ask questions later. Vash can't exactly fault that with all the weird stuff that goes on in Milton. ]

It might be different for you.

[ He points out quietly as he meets his brother's gaze again. Knives has always had so much more control than he ever did after all. ]

[brutalact]

[it could be worse, is his first thought. this aurora could tap into that empty well and drive his brother over the same line knives had crossed into death. there is no doubt there are more machinations yet to be revealed in this place, this strange world they've landed themselves, but--

it could be worse.

knives' eyes glance away from vash to skim over their surroundings, the other unfortunate souls gathered together here in search of warmth and food. his distrust is palpable, already gauging what would happen if any were to react unfavorably to their alien differences under this aurora's influence.]

Whatever is left within me is beyond my control now. [his attention focuses back to vash. finally on equal footing at the most inopportune time.]

Has anyone given you trouble for it?

[amo]

[ It could be worse. It certainly would have been if Vash's initial fear (and subsequent panic) had come to pass. Although he wouldn't have cared much about his power being depleted and his existence vanishing as a result, he'd been beside himself with worry over potentially wiping Milton off the map. When loss of control has equaled utter devastation in the past, it hadn't exactly been an unfounded fear. It had taken him several days of the changes happening without anything catastrophic following before he could recognize it as nothing but an inconvenience on his part. Even when sprouting feathers and wings, whatever is left of his power remains dormant and still; there yet seemingly out of reach whenever Vash tries to consciously tap into it. It's a sleeping dog he's been content to leave lie.

It sounds like that's the case for Knives too. If he even has anything left after his apple tree stunt, that is. Vash is almost tempted to reach out to try and see, but well... connecting on that level as only plants can had never gone well for either of them. It doesn't matter either way. Neither of them can call upon their heritage anymore. It's better to leave it be.

His lips quirk up hopelessly at the question. It feels like such a mundane older brother thing to ask, as if Vash would need defending from bullies. He gently shakes his head in response, truthful when he says: ]

The few people I ran into didn't seem to mind that much.

[ Where one boy had been utterly unfazed and more preoccupied with studying the ghostly apparitions, another had been startled at first but ultimately welcomed his presence after deeming it harmless enough. Granted, Vash hides away when his more monstrous visage comes out as a precaution, but so far he's been pleasantly surprised by the reactions. No one's shot him or thrown rocks. Yet. ]

[brutalact]

That isn't a guarantee everyone else will be as understanding.

[always the skeptic, distrusting of others - humans - faced with the strange and alien, like them. at the end of the line there shouldn't have been anything left to threaten vash's wellbeing, but they were cursed with bad luck since the very beginning. knives looks as if he could say more, that he wants to say more, but it's a century and a half of old habits and fears that didn't die alongside him on that desert planet. so, he swallows them back down, familiar anxiety brewing just beneath the skin.

they were at the disadvantage here, it would be unwise for the sheep to declare hostility in the company of wolves.

he is so, so tired.]

You said you've been here for two months. Where have you been staying?

[amo]

I know. But the people here are more understanding than you might think.

[ Knowing exactly the path this conversation is likely to go down and seeing that look on Knives' face that indicates there's a lot more he wants to say on the matter, Vash has to resist the urge to flick his brother's forehead or pull on his cheeks as a childish diversion from the subject. It's such an ancient, worn-out topic by now. It's not as if he's expecting Knives' mind to have changed after everything, but treading that old ground has proven to not get them anywhere. It's a hatchet they will need to bury together.

Fortunately, Knives seems to think better of it and there's no need to resort to gentle (but not always) bullying childhood tactics to snap his twin out of spiraling thoughts. Which is a relief because falling back into those circling arguments is the last thing Vash wants when their reunion is such a miracle; a gift he doesn't want to waste.

Knives looks so very weary though, Vash can't help squeezing the shoulders under his hands for whatever meager comfort that might offer. 'I'm here' is all Vash has left to give even if it's never been enough to assuage his brother's fears and anxieties. ]

Um, kind of all over the place? Old habits, I guess.

[ Staying in one place just no longer feels right when he's been a wandering nomad for so long. It's amazing he hasn't felt compelled to leave town and go out there into the wilds the way Methuselah does. (He might have if he wasn't still adjusting to the drastic change of climate and all its unknown dangers.) ]

I return to the church on the outskirts of town most often though. It has some nice living quarters.

[brutalact]

[meager that it may be, his brother's attempts at comfort spark old memories long since buried beneath sand and rubble. he had tried his damned hardest to forget what those times felt like, before everything had crumbled under infection. vash had been the staple holding his bleeding heart together when he felt too much, too hard, overwhelmingly so. he had never felt lonely, even if their world had consisted of only himself and rem and his anxieties felt as expansive as space itself, he could depend on vash to hold him tight until the fears bled away into relief.

he realizes now, in this moment, just how terribly he missed this. and then, just how selfish it is to want this after everything.]

I see. [he'll need to find lodgings for himself, then. it's exhausting just to think about, finding the will to survive when he'd been ready to finally end it all. already he can feel a headache begin to thrum behind his eyes. his hand moves to vash's cheek, the motion deceiving when he tugs at a messy lock of dark hair.]

Stay inside the town. I don't care where you lay your head at night otherwise.

[amo]

[ A hand raises towards his cheek and Vash goes still as he finds himself caught between two opposite urges: his body's natural instinct to shy away from someone who has only done it harm previously and his touch-starved desire to lean into it. Perhaps it's fortunate then that he doesn't have to choose. The expected touch never comes as fingers take hold and tug on a lock of his hair instead. Immediately Vash snaps out of his semi-frozen state and proceeds to look like the pinnacle of maturity with the way he puffs up his cheeks and pouts in dire offense taken. ]

Oh? I wasn't aware I needed your permission.

[ He raises an eyebrow pointedly, expression close to bratty rebellion. There's something kind of funny about Knives trying to act like a proper older brother authority figure now after everything. It's not as if Vash actually minds though. After all, whether he listens or not is an entirely different matter and one Knives already knows the answer to. There's no stopping a typhoon. However, this demand is an easy one to meet for the moment since he wasn't planning on leaving town anytime soon anyway.

It also means he can raise one of his own. Which he does while poking Knives in the chest. ]

Fine. But only if you come stay with me at the church.

[ He could say it's because he wants to keep an eye on Knives, make sure he doesn't create any trouble for the people here and all that, but it's for the far more selfish reason of easing his own loneliness. They both know Knives won't do anything — he's lost his war and his powers. There's little his brother could do even if he wanted to. That's in the past now. Their tickets to the future will always remain blank.

It might be a bad idea. They're not the same people they once were and they haven't stayed together for so many years now. Finding some equilibrium and sense of normalcy between them is likely not going to be easy. Still, he's been given this opportunity and so Vash wants to try. Maybe they can never quite be the two halves that made a whole that they once were, the cracks too wide to fill, but at the very least Vash plans to keep his recently remembered promise.

'Don't leave Knives on his own.'

He won't. He can make space for him in his room at the church and having him there means Vash has something (someone) to return to; a reason to stick around and maybe even settle if he can. ]

[brutalact]

[if he asked himself what prompted such familiarity after going so long without such comforts, knives wouldn't have an answer. maybe he craved this as much as vash did, the only reason he didn't walk out of this building once vash had given him the answers he needed. the only tether left in this world standing right before him, pouting just like he did when they were children.

knives realizes quite suddenly, oh so quietly, that he's never seen vash pout with this face. all grown up and all the memories he has to look back on over the last century and a half are those of his brother in pain, in fear, in anger, in tears.

the poke isn't as hard as it could be, better to be replaced with a bullet instead.]

Do you really want that?

[he asks so sincerely because there is nothing for him to lose if vash were to change his mind, retract the offered demand as he comes to his senses at knives' prompting question.]

[amo]

Yes.

[ There is no hesitation, the immediate answer that falls from his lips is swift and sure. He doesn't want to be alone anymore and he gets the distinct impression that Knives doesn't either. They've been apart for so long, it's finally time to mend what's been broken. Or at least try to, together. He understands why Knives asks, knows that there are many who would be boggled by this decision when he and his brother have been bitter enemies for so long, but... ]

It's a new place. A new day. Let's start over.

[ The thing is, Knives had been the one to leave. Vash had never meant to part from Knives' side even when he couldn't remember Rem's dying wish. During that long stretch of time in which they were separated and fighting on opposite ends of a war of Knives' creation, he could have come back to Vash any time and Vash would have accepted his blank ticket. Sure, he might hold himself and his twin to different standards than he does humans, but he would have been plenty willing to try working through things had his brother returned to him whenever.

So yes, he really wants that. To drive that point home, he tilts his head downwards, peering up through his lashes at Knives while his lips form a semi-pout again. The result is a beguiling look that's been a tried and true tactic from their childhood, one that would usually have Rem caving or hurriedly looking away to avoid doing so. ]

So please? It's not a big home and we'll probably need to haul in another mattress, but we'll fit. It's peaceful there.

[brutalact]

[it was never as simple as coming back when in knives' eyes it was vash who left him first. vash had been the one to turn away, unable to understand what knives saw as he looked upon the humans scattered across the planet. fear mixed with fury creating a toxicity that scorched the earth into a path he could never deviate from. there was no turning back.

but vash is so certain and it shakes knives just enough to have him faltering. even worse is seeing how vash tilts his head just so, tried and true pout that has knives looking away with a knot between his brows and his nose wrinkling. completely defeated.]

... Fine.

[there's an expectation that vash will still change his mind. knives expects it because such a blessing is simply too good for him to accept. it's more than what he deserves.]

When you are finished here, we'll go back together.