December 2023 Test Drive Meme

[singmod]

DECEMBER 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 — MISTY FALLS CAVE: The Interlopers go out in search of a hidden cave in the mountains found by Methuselah, which may still contain the hidden stash of a doomsday prepper. However, they get a little more than they bargained for when they venture inside.

PROMPT THREE — SERPENT'S BREATH: Interlopers investigate the mysterious cause of whatever is killing and poisoning the wildlife and vegetation of the area — and discover a supernatural creature is behind it.

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

WHEN: Mid-Decmber.
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 a long time. The fire is cold, the dishes in the sink are pretty mouldy. 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.

It’s possible you may come across someone here. Another fellow Interloper, 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. Civilisation…?

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 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.

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, even more, still. Just as I thought.” he muses. “I wonder if this is perhaps the new status quo. 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. They bring more of you every so often. 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, 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 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 grilled fish. There's also things like instant mashed potatoes, and tinned vegetables. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast, although newcomers will note from others who have been here some time that this particular feast is less bountiful this time.

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.

He will encourage newcomers to get warm and eat, and when they are ready to — they can explore the time 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.

However, he will speak of something important, and will gladly share with others: “I have been looking for something for you all. There was once a townsfolk I knew of: Matthew. A suspicious, paranoid old miner who was interested in Prepping. He often spoke of the world coming to an end and strived to survive it. He often spoke of a cache hidden in the mountains, where he collected things of value. I have found the place, a hidden cave, but I am unable to get through, myself.”

… Well, he is an old man, after all.

“There are signs outside, so it is promising it is still intact. Perhaps the cache is still there. It might provide something useful for your growing numbers.”

MISTY FALLS CAVE

WHEN: Mid-month, onwards.
WHERE: Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: booby traps; claustrophobic situations; potential injury/maiming; potential hyperthermic situations; exploration horror;


Methuselah gives directions to those willing to check out the lead for the old prepper cache. Following the river up from Milton Basin will lead to rugged, difficult pathways up towards Misty Falls — a waterfall, the river source itself. Most of the river is completely frozen with the freezing temperatures, but it is not completely so the closer to the source you go. Misty Falls is certainly idyllic, or it would be perhaps on a fine summer’s day — good for a nice hike. But the place looks desolate in the eternal winter cursing the Northern Territories.

The half-frozen waterfall is a din of sound, but the water itself is incredibly fresh and cooling for those hot and tired from the hike up. Those paying attention might notice a small space between the water and rock, big enough to squeeze through to get behind the waterfall itself. In the small space, the entrance to a small cave can be found. There are faded handmade signs, all in the same hand, reading ‘DANGER KEEP OUT’ and it isn’t too far of a stretch to wonder if perhaps this might be the secret stash of the old miner that Methuselah spoke of.

Venturing into the cave will not be an easy task. It seems the old miner was keen to keep any trespassers out, and most of this comes down to the cave itself. The walls of the cave quickly narrow, with only enough space to walk in single file. Jutting stone will easily make those stumble and trip. Occasionally the cave’s passage becomes narrower, meaning one might have to stoop or even crawl to carry on through. Here and there, the uneven floor dips, and your feet will find themselves in shin-deep frigid water. It’s slow-going, even if the actual passage itself isn’t incredibly long.

But perhaps the worst of all is the pressing darkness. A darkness so black even with lanterns switched off, one’s eyes cannot adjust to it. It is smothering, pressing. The air is stale and damp, you feel small — and the cave itself still presses in on you. The miner also kept a few tricks up his sleeve in order to keep out intruders. There are dead-ends, making it easy to get lost. Trip wires are hidden in the darkness, causing small man-made cave-ins to fall upon unsuspecting heads.

It might be safer, saner to give up and turn back. But persevering will see the cave opening up once more, this time widening into a room. The place is fashioned into some crude shelter. There is furniture, lanterns to be lit.

With more light, the miner’s stash is revealed: the painstaking, time-costing work of a paranoid old recluse. Crates of non-perishable foods, MREs, and bottled water. Medicines and basic medical supplies, flares and tools.

A perfect supply of survival goods, ripe for the taking.

SERPENT'S BREATH

WHEN: Throughout the month.
WHERE: The entirety of the Milton area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: mentions of dead animals; malevolent creature; snakes/serpents; poison/airborne toxins; potential poisonings; potential burn injuries; potential (temporary) blinding.


It’s noticed in different ways: perhaps a trail of dead animals stands before you, each one with no particular injury other than what appears to be burned hides and flesh — it is as if the wildlife simply dropped dead, for the most part. Perhaps you notice huge, tunnel-like grooves in the deepest parts of the snow, a few feet in width — as if something long and thick had made its way through to clear a path. More worryingly for some, they might notice trails of rot: destroyed trees, decaying plant life, as if the very earth itself has been scorched in the wake of something passing through, leaving nothing but destruction and devastation.

Something is destroying the flora and fauna of the world. There seems to be no pattern, simply the random trails all over the place. There appears to be no other tracks, other than the long, smooth tunnel-like pathways. Whatever it is, it must be stopped. Resources are so precious in this world, if the beast is allowed to continue then all who live here will soon starve due to lack of animals to hunt and plants to gather.

Following the tunnels is a sure-way to hunt the beast down, although these paths will lead far from town. It is best to go prepared. But soon enough, you may come across the slumbering beast, curled up on the snow or coiled underneath some jutting space of stone along the mountains. You’ll hear and smell it before you see it: the long grumbling snores as it sleeps, and the putrid stench of rot. Everything in you tells you to flee, much like when an animal senses something toxic, or poisoning.

You press on, finally stumbling across the beast: a long, serpent-like dragon, with tremendous horns and fangs, coloured with muted grey scales and huge, glowing, flamed eyes.

The element of surprise will work in your favour to try and kill the beast, but it will give up a good fight. It will take several rounds of fights with it before it will finally be taken down permanently. It moves quickly, with scales like steel. Its eyes and mouth are its weakest spots, as is the soft underbelly of its body — fire will work well on harming this beast, especially with a well aimed shot into its mouth.

Its open mouth is where it holds its most powerful weapon. Not the fangs, no. The very reason why the air smells of rot, why the wildlife lay dead, why the earth decays at your feet: its breath. The beast’s breath is highly toxic, it will burn the skin of those it comes into contact with. Breathing in the fumes will poison those who breathe it in, and will cause a weakening, sickly illness. The breath may even temporarily blind.

These injuries are not fatal, and will heal with time and the basic medical attention available in the world. Victims will require rest for at least a week, depending on how severe the blast of the serpent’s breath. But killing the best will ensure its havoc is brought to an end.

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.

MISTY FALLS CAVE

1. Tools found would be basic survival/camping tools one might expect: knives, hand axes, rope, handsaws, torches, batteries, etc.

SERPENT'S BREATH

1. The Stoor Worm, or Mester Stoor Worm, was a gigantic evil sea serpent of Orcadian folklore, capable of contaminating plants and destroying animals and humans with its putrid breath. Assipattle, the youngest son of a local farmer, defeated the creature by flinging still-burning peat into its mouth. As it died its teeth fell out to become the islands of Orkney, Shetland and the Faroes, and its body became Iceland.

2. It is possible the harvest the beast once it is killed, particularly for its fangs and skin. The skin/scales will provide ample protection to try to use it for armouring themselves. The fangs would provide useful for crafting knives or weapons.

3. It is... technically possible to eat the meat of the beast. Care should be taken in butchering, however. And it is not advised to eat the head.

TALES FROM THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES NEWSLETTER

Comments

[amo]

[ Vash drops down next to Wolfwood's stool, taking a seat on the floor where he sets the kit down and flips it open to retrieve what he requires. The cold floor is grounding beneath him and going through the familiar motions brings some modicum of equanimity. For everything that's changed — about their surroundings, about him, about Wolfwood who surely can't have come out of the experience of dying unchanged — at least this simple act feels the same as it's always done. Maybe it's a fucked up thing to have missed, but Vash has; the tending to one another's wounds the closest thing to any kind of physical affection or reassurance they ever truly afforded themselves. Then again, he's missed everything about Wolfwood's presence dearly.

Vash immediately catches on to what Wolfwood means when he says 'sometime' and although he has no real qualms spilling the beans about most of it right here on the kitchen floor, he understands the desire for privacy. They'll get to it, later. Maybe after Wolfwood's eaten, Vash can take him to one of the abandoned houses he's taken temporary residence in before. There's a few that could potentially have some left-behind clothing in Wolfwood's size and, with any luck, a shower that still functions if the pipes haven't failed yet.

The smile he offers Wolfwood in understanding response is somewhat wan — a tiredness etched into the lines that goes beyond how utterly drained he feels in the wake of his emotional spill, scraped hollow of his grief and puffy-eyed as he is — but genuine. ]

I will. So much has happened, there's... a lot I have to tell you.

[ Putting it mildly and Vash doesn't even have all the answers, having been in hiding for months right after the cataclysmic battle with Knives. He's pretty sure Livio is fine. After all, Vash had made certain he would survive. (He'd rather not have Wolfwood know the cost that took though.) The orphanage he'd made sure would remain standing as well — a drain on his then dwindling powers he hadn't regretted one bit regardless of how partially ruined the structure had been already. By now they should have been able to rebuild and move back in. All he does have is the reassurance that No Man's Land and its people are continuing on as usual for the most part even with the addition of Earth's forces milling about. But the hellhole planet they call their home is not the most important thing right now... ]

About this place, too. I don't even know where to start. Feel free to ask me anything?

[ He's throwing that offer out there as he works on stabilizing and wrapping Wolfwood's wrist with deft, careful fingers. Right now it'll be easier for him to answer direct questions than to try to corral his tired, scattered thoughts back together for a coherent explanation. ]

[lastdecember]

[ He's not sure what he expected Vash to do – lean over, maybe, or pull over a stool of his own – but dropping into a sit at Wolfwood's feet wasn't anywhere on the list of options. The heat of the kitchen is finally starting to sink into his bones, he figures – why else would he feel so warm all of a sudden? Even when they've patched each other up before, it's been more rough and ready than anything – cursing each other out for their relative stupidity in putting themselves at risk, putting others at risk, wounds washed out wth the same alcohol they were pouring down their throats, bandages tied too tight – it was always care, but it was almost never kind.

Here, sitting in the floor in his soft sweater than only accents the black of his hair and the bags under his eyes,Vash touches him with such gentleness that it makes Wolfwood feels like something valuable. He has to turn away, pretending to take in the kitchen, checking for exits, for weapons, for threats, before he can think too much about why that smile makes his chest ache. Before he can give in to the temptation to gentle the weariness off Vash's face with a touch of his own.

Dying's made him stupid as hell, he mentally laughs at himself, running his free hand through his own hair to give his fingers something safe to do. Some idiot cries on him and wraps his broken wrist with care instead of curses – is that really at it takes to turn him soft? Holding Vash while he was bawling his eyes out was bold enough as it is. Is he really so shaken from dy-- from everything that's happened that he's out here seeking shelter like a kid?

Ask me anything, Vash offers then, and Wolfwood really does laugh, just a short, quiet burst of disbelief at this whole goddamn situation. ]

You mean there's more? More than being dead, and comin' back, to Earth, with ice and... and trees and whatever else all that outside was, and Knives is here too, but that's okay somehow, and unless I was seein' things earlier you're got a secret son you never told me about and he's here too?

[ Who else could that blond Vash lookalike have been? ]

Spikey, I don't know if I could handle knowin' much more right now.

[amo]

[ Vash doesn't entirely realize the weight behind what he's doing and how different it actually is from their usual tending to one another. He's been on the receiving end of a similar kind of gentle treatment from an unlikely source on a daily basis now and it's subconsciously bleeding into his own actions. Every night Knives takes his prosthetic off for him, cleans it, and sets it by the fire so that when he helps Vash put it back on in the morning, the steel isn't icy cold against his skin. That sort of quiet thoughtfulness had unsettled Vash at first, unused as he is to it especially coming from Knives, but by now he's learned to just accept his twin's fussing and attempts at showing care for the most part.

Besides, he'd been this gentle the last time he'd touched Wolfwood and cleaned the blood off his face before wrapping him in fabric and lowering him into the ground. Newly returned from the dead like a miraculous gift that Vash does not deserve, it only feels right to treat him with the same reverential care, kneeling by his side as though in supplication, even if he isn't actively cognizant of it. He's only doing what he's always doing: whatever feels right.

Wolfwood barks out a disbelieving laugh and Vash looks sheepishly apologetic at the sound of it. 'There's so much more' is the truthful answer he's prepared to give, only his train of thought gets thoroughly derailed and is send careening off of a cliff when Wolfwood calls his other self his secret son.

There's a few seconds of stunned, surprised silence before Vash— bursts out into helpless laughter; the kind that leaves him doubling over and clutching at his stomach, tears of mirth clinging to his lashes. After all the emotional crying he just did, the laughter feels good if not a little painful for his ribs.

He does feel for Wolfwood and how overwhelmed and confused his friend must be, but please give him a moment to get his laughter back under control. He hasn't laughed this hard in... a while. ]

Ha— sorry! He's not my son. He's... well, me, but from another world. Like how this Earth isn't our Earth, but just a version of Earth out of many.

[ He straightens, thumbing away a stray tear as his expression returns to something more apologetic again. ]

That probably doesn't make much sense.

[ He doesn't quite know how to explain it in any way that makes it more comprehensible right now. Maybe he'll get Wolfwood some fitting science fiction novels to read later. For now he focuses on the subject of his double, hands returning to their work to securely finish bandaging Wolfwood's wrist. ]

We're the same person, but there's differences that set us apart. Differences in how his world works, differences in experiences and choices. I've been thinking of him as a slightly younger brother who happens to have a lot in common?

[ Wolfwood's first impression though... the very thought gets another cackle out of him. ]

But son sure is funnier!

[lastdecember]

[ He's me, but from another world, Vash says, like that's any kind of answer that a sober man should accept. At least that blond Vash being this Vash's son is reasonable!

Wolfwood stares hard and disbelieving as Vash laughs his way through that ridiculous explanation, trying hard not to show just how conpletely confused he is. Vash just knows so much, understands so many things that Wolfwood will never fully grasp, and the way he just casually offers ideas beyond Wolfwood's reckoning is both flattering and deeply frustrating.

At least this time Vash is assuming he understands some of what's happening, rather than treating him like the dumbass he is. He knows his pitiful education can't stand up to a hundred years' worth of knowledge, but he can read and do sums, and he's just as good as the next man in the things that matter, so who cares whether he knew that there's more than one Earth?

(No, he's still not over being led by the hand to see the satellite like he wasn't smart enough to understand what a damn space radio was.) ]

Another Earth? You mean, in another solar system?

[ See, he's not a complete doofus! Worlds circle stars, and there's infinite stars out there, so okay, maybe whoever put them up there ran out of ideas and just made a bunch of copies. That makes as much sense as anything.

He takes his injured wrist back, testing the bandaging. Snug and sturdy – Vash does good work. ]

How many copies are there? Is this whole town just full to the brim with spiky-headed do-gooders?

[amo]

[ As much as Wolfwood tries to hide his confusion, Vash is all too aware of it. Who wouldn't be confused? No one can blame him and certainly very few people have the kind of education he and Knives had gotten in their childhood, having voraciously learned anything Rem would offer them no matter how complex. Normal human beings don't exactly learn to navigate and maintain spaceships within one year of being born nor are they taught multiple old Earth languages just for the sole purpose of keeping them occupied. A lot of that knowledge is rusty and disused now, some of it even forgotten in the century and a half he's been on No Man's Land, but there's still an overwhelming breadth of knowledge and history he carries with him. He can't exactly expect anyone else to compare.

It doesn't help that there's a lot about this place that should be impossible, including Wolfwood's very presence itself. The dead walk among them, universes collide and come together in the form of vastly different people plucked from space and time, mysterious forces toy with their lives to unknown ends.

That Wolfwood grasps what little he offers and draws the conclusion that he does is a pleasant surprise enough and it makes Vash feel proud of him all the same, quick to nod and beam at him. ]

Yeah, it's kinda like being in another solar system! One that's a copy of ours, but the details got changed and mixed up.

[ Not quite it, but close enough.

While Wolfwood tests his handiwork, Vash cleans up, tucking equipment back into the kit and closing it. He pauses only briefly to answer the question with a softer laugh while the very idea fills him with peculiar dread. He and V dance around each other, always avoiding any real questions about themselves like the cowards they are. He doesn't want to think about what it'd be like if there were even more of them. ]

Haha no, it's just him and me. Along with Knives, we're the only people from similar worlds. No one else here knows about No Man's Land or plants. Most seem to come from their own version of Earth.

[ Now that Wolfwood's injury is taken care of, he sets about putting the first aid kit back where he got it from and resuming his previous task of getting Wolfwood a bowl of hearty stew, still talking as he goes. ]

Like I said, Methuselah is the only surviving native of this town. The rest of the people who lived here... [ He hesitates and visibly sobers, voice going low and mournful. ] They were already dead when the first group of us arrived. You're part of the third group that's shown up so far. No one knows how we're here or why.

[lastdecember]

[ He was right? ...He was right! Vash's praise sets a pleased little smile at the corner of Wolfwood's mouth, a shy, unconscious thing that would shortly have turned into a full-blown cackle, covering his honest, uncertain pride with put-on arrogance, if not for the rest of Vash's explanation.

The people who lived here died, and now they're here and nobody knows how or why? That's nothing to laugh about. That makes them sound like prisoners at best, and livestock – or sacrifices – at worst.

He's on his feet as soon as Vash is done speaking, blanket and sheet both left in a heap to keep his arms free, just in case. ]

Methuselah? That old guy out there handin' out lunch? [ Come on, Spikey, let's go confront the old bastard. ] I bet he knows more than he's sayin'. Lemme try talkin' to him.

[ Vash is too gentle, too friendly, Wolfwood thinks, and the old man clearly hadn't felt properly motivated enough to tell everything that he knew. Clearly he needs to be persuaded to spill what's happening here. ]

[amo]

[ The sweet little smile is instantly memorized and tucked away into Vash's mental catalogue to linger on fondly later; a precious gift he'll treasure when he never thought he would get to see Wolfwood smile in any kind of way ever again, much less that split-second of genuine surprised pleasure at being praised. (Vash will have to do that more often, maybe.) It's a wonderful image he can plaster over his very last memory of Wolfwood in which his face had been slack and eyes vacant in death. That he'll get to make any new memories at all is something he can't imagine he'll stop (perhaps selfishly) feeling thankful for regardless of what horrors this place might throw their way. He has his brother. He has his best friend. There's nothing else Vash could want. (Save perhaps to see one other person again, but that he doesn't even dare to hope for, not here.)

Wolfwood abruptly jumps to his feet and it leaves Vash to stare at him nonplussed from where he'd been ladling stew into the bowl. Fortunately his confusion doesn't last for long because of course Wolfwood would assume the worst of Methuselah. He should have known. The pang of fond exasperation he experiences almost makes him smile. Almost. ]

No, no, no, absolutely not! You sit back down right now.

[ Bowl expertly balanced on the tips of his fingers on one hand, Vash moves swiftly to put himself between Wolfwood and the way out of the kitchen, reaching out with his free hand to gently yet forcefully push him back down to sit on the stool. ]

I've known the man for months. Buried those dead with him, helped him prepare these feasts. He's been nothing but helpful and kind.

[ Yes, Methuselah can be secretive and withdrawn, not likely to give much in the way of answers, but his presence has been invaluable. So many more would not have survived without his helping hand and wisdom. Vash trusts him and there's no way he's letting Wolfwood confront him.

Instead Wolfwood gets the bowl pushed into his hands and a firm: ]

Here, just be good and eat your stew. I promise you Methuselah is not the cause for any of this.

[lastdecember]

[ He lets Vash push him back down onto his seat, feeling the insistance behind the gesture. He takes the bowl of soup with slightly less grace, with only the rich smell and the gnawing hunger in his gut preventing him from snapping back how he's never once been good and he's not about to start now. ]

You don't have to be the cause of a problem to know what's going on with it!To know who's to blame!

[ He wasn't going to hurt the old bastard, geez. He was just going to ask him some questions, that's all! Sure those questions would be more gruff than the ones Vash has certainly already asked, but sometimes the gentle touch isn't the right one – some situations require gruffness. ]

How do you even know he is who he says he is, huh? You're too trusting, Spikey.

[ His stomach growls again, interrupting his complaints. Before Vash can tell him once again to eat, Wolfwood eats, shoveling a spoonful of stew into his face with an exasperated huff. It tastes even better than it smells, and his protests have to be put on hold for the moment as he inhales the entire bowl. ]

[amo]

I know him, Wolfwood.

[ Vash sighs and crosses his arms once the bowl has left his hands, put-upon as he remains standing right where he is — a barrier between his friend and the door — just in case Wolfwood might get any bright ideas and get up again. As much as he always wants to believe the best in people, he isn't as naive as Wolfwood seems to think he is. When it comes down to it, he doesn't consider himself a bad judge of character at all. He can tell when someone has ill intentions. Methuselah doesn't, he's sure of it. ]

He knows as much as we do and that's that the Aurora is probably the most likely the culprit for our presence here.

[ Not that it changes much in the way of knowing things when the Aurora is as much of a mystery as everything else is. But that at least gives him a different subject to segue into while Wolfwood devours the stew, hopefully redirecting the attention away from Methuselah for the foreseeable future. The old man has his hands full tending to the newcomers and is far too busy to be accosted by anyone, much less Wolfwood and his gruff ways. ]

And I believe it. The auroras are these beautiful lights that randomly appear in the sky every now and then. They seem to have strange powers that affects us plants and all electricity in town. Honestly, it's been a pain in the ass for us.

[lastdecember]

[ Vash folds his arms in that way that says he wants to be done arguing about this, and Wolfwood wisely just keeps ladling stew down his throat so he doesn't say anything about it. Vash is too gullible, too willing to believe good where there's none to be found. He's a terrible judge of character, and his body's covered with reminders of that fact. Maybe the old man doesn't know anything more than he's told – maybe he is just a kindly old victim of circumstance. If he's been around long enough for Vash to know him as well as the blond... as the spiky-haired idiot seems to think, then there'll be time for more questions later.

Both Vash and Knives have lost their powers, and both Vash and Knives now have black hair. That can't be a coincidence, right? ]

Lights?

[ He's scraped the last of the stew off the sides of the bowl and is just debating – just deciding, the debate was a short one – to lick it clean when Spikey drops that particular bomb. The only context he has for strange lights in the sky is the ark, and the way that beast of a ship would trundle across the heavens. At night it looked like nothing so much as a grand city in the distance, but then, as it approached, the horrors of its true form revealed themselves. Combined with the electrical humming of a ship that carried with it all the power stations of an entire planet, and he can't help but draw the connection.

He's a little pale as he lowers his empty bowl. ]

Spikey, tell me straight. Are you in danger here?

[ After all, coming from Mr Sunny Side of Life here, a pain in the ass could encompass everything from too much humidity making his hair curl, to regularly fighting for his life against a monster made of electricity. They've certainly seen stranger. And if it only affects the plants, and not the humans here, then that sounds targeted. ]

[amo]

[ Lights is the only word he has for the beautiful ribbons of colour in the sky that herald the Aurora so he nods even though it's wholly inadequate. Wolfwood will understand when he sees and given the reoccurring nature of those northern lights, it probably won't be too long before he does. Despite the chaos that tends to follow, the sight is one of the most stunning things Vash has ever seen. Watching the light display from the safety of one of the church's windows with a hot drink in hand is one of his favourite things to do even if he'll have to deal with the inconvenient sprouting of wings and feathers. He'll have to share the experience with Wolfwood when he can.

Watching Wolfwood pale already has him feeling and looking remorseful about what he'll need to tell him. For all Vash's claims that this isn't a sinner's Hell, it's not going to sound like it. ]

We're all in danger here, I'm afraid. There are forces at work that want to see us dead and gone, voices that somehow know all our secrets and will try to tempt you to... well, end it all, ghosts that play out their last moments on a loop for us to see. And that's just to name a few of the weird things that have happened here. Not to mention how hard it is just to survive this cold environment.

[ But to address that you part in particular, he circles back to it wryly. ]

Aside from that, I guess the only danger for us plants in particular is that someone mistakes us for feathery monsters during the Aurora and shoots on sight?

[ He lets out a sheepish laugh before he seems to realize something, quickly correcting: ]

Ah, that only applies to me and Knives though. The other me just glows instead! Apparently his plants look quite different from ours, it's fascinating. I wish I could see a sister from his world...

[ Is he babbling to distract from the Horrors? Maybe. Maybe not. He could be genuinely getting sidetracked by the thought... or quite possibly the next. ]

Do you want another bowl? Or something else to eat?

[lastdecember]

[ Voices that know their deepest darkest secrets? Ghosts – their ghosts, is what Wolfwood hears, ghosts of those they've killed – reenacting their deaths? Taunting them with suicide? Lights in the sky that make Vash and Knives both erupt into the feathery monstrosities that demolished July? The other one glows, he says, and all Wolfwood can picture is the heated surface of the moon turning red-hot as it was incinerated and turned to dust and ash. And this happens often?

Wolfwood stands, and sets his bowl down slowly on the nearest surface. This is Hell. Vash is wrong about that. ]

I want a drink. [ And to wake up... but he did that already, didn't he? This is reality now. This is home. He laughs it off, a humorless chuckle as he crosses the room to Vash's side and claps his friend on the shoulder. ] Please, Spikey, I'm beggin' you, no more. Don't tell me any more until I've got a drink in my hand and two more lined up behind it.

[ Knives, two Vashes, ghosts, resurrections... Next Vash is going to tell him that they're all actually robots, or that this is just a dream, and Wolfwood might actually lose it! ]

[amo]

[ His words are only scratching the surface and each point he raised deserves a better, more in depth explanation to help prepare Wolfwood for all the terrible things that Milton and its mysteries will have in store for him, but it's just so much and he's already overwhelmed his friend enough as it is. Coming back from the dead is more than anyone could easily swallow, much less all of... this. It's too much for anyone.

That fact only becomes all the more apparent when Wolfwood gets up and proclaims a desire Vash understands all too well. They both could use several drinks at this point. Yet the thought momentarily leaves his mind entirely when Wolfwood comes over and sets a sturdy hand on his shoulder, pleading for no more information. Briefly Vash has to struggle with the desire to either reach up and grasp that warm hand in his own or to step forward and bury his face in Wolfwood's shoulder all over again.

He does neither, managing to suppress both urges and staying still while his expression flits to something that seems downright pained for the briefest of moments. ]

I'm sorry.

[ You deserve better than this.

He'd like to tell him that, but doesn't for fear of only overwhelming him further or getting into an unnecessary argument when he knows Wolfwood might be apt to disagree when it comes to topics of deserving anything. In that regard, they're alike.

He has no further mind-shattering news to give, only something that will be quietly devastating and he looks appropriately rueful about it. ]

I'm afraid alcohol is in quite a short supply here at this point. I do have some stashed away where I'm staying, but there's not a lot left. People have been trying to figure out how to make our own.

[ Supplies in general are dwindling and will only continue to do so. What little Vash has saved for a rainy day, he's more than happy to share with Wolfwood. It's just not enough to be anything like their usual nights out drinking until they pass out in a drunken haze. He wishes he had more to offer in any kind of little comfort, he—

... He does, doesn't he? ]

Oh! But I do have this.

[ He redirects his attention and fiddles with the pouch strapped to his thigh that's held in place by the harness around his waist with more little belts than is strictly necessary. (Some things about Vash just don't change.) What he retrieves from it he holds out to his friend: a pack of cigarettes from the brand Wolfwood usually smokes. There's a few cigarettes missing, but it's still mostly full. ]

[lastdecember]

[ There's not a lot left, says Vash, and Wolfwood's face falls somewhere around his knees. It's a tragedy! A disgrace! Cruel and unusual punishment!

And okay, he's playing up his disappointment to make a joke of the situation (mostly so Vash doesn't worry), but the lack of booze is going to be a real problem soon. Without something to quiet his mind and keep the nightmares at bay, how's he going to sleep? He hadn't dared be anything but sober during the months he was back under Chapel's thumb, and the nights during that time had been bad. Worse than bad. A hour here, two there, and that's all the sleep he managed to snatch for himself, sometimes for weeks on end. In between 'jobs', when the ark was between cities and there was nobody to murder and rob on Knives's behalf, sometimes he could find a dark corner of the ship to lock himself away and scream and cry in peace, but for the most part, he just didn't sleep.

That first night after their rescue, once the talk of the arriving Earth ships and Knives's plan to destroy them had finally died down and he'd had the chance to close his eyes for the first time in months, he'd dared to pop one of the painkillers the doctor had offered him. Those ship folks didn't mess around with their drugs, he'd learned! That was the deepest, most dreamless sleep he'd ever had in his life. What he wouldn't give for a bottle of those pills now.

He'll just have to find himself a spot to curl up where he won't be a bother when he wakes in the night, he decides, as Vash apologizes. Someplace where he won't accidentally hurt anybody. Someplace where Knives won't get to see how weak he is.

He's just about to turn back for his empty bowl – if he can't sleep, he might as well glut himself! – when Vash digs into a bag at his side and holds up a pack of his brand of cigarettes. The instant Wolfwood recognizes the package, he snatches it out of Vash's hand with a gasp, holding it to his face and drawing in a deep breath to savor the aroma. ]

Where'd you find these?

[ This place doesn't have drinks, but they happen to sell his smokes? That seems unlikely as hell, but so does everything else that's happened today, so Wolfwood's just rolling with it. He's already tapping one out of the pack as he speaks, tucking it into the corner of his mouth and patting down his pockets for a lighter that has to be in there somewhere. ]

You're a lifesaver!

[amo]

[ Wolfwood might be playing up his reaction, but it's one Vash feels wholeheartedly all the same. The lack of alcohol has not been easy when a lot of what happens leaves Vash craving drunk oblivion. Although booze might not exactly help their situation — might even make it easier to fall victim to hypothermia from what he's read in survival guides — it sure would make coping easier. Fortunately a few other Interlopers have been figuring out how to make their own, but that requires sugar and who knows for how long their stock of that will last. There's so many things that they're steadily running out of, it's a lot to worry about. It probably won't be long before they're living on only what they can find out in the wild.

The few bottles he has, he'll share when they get back to the church and there's really no question that Vash will bring Wolfwood back to their little home. They can convert the church's office into a private bedroom for him. At least until they find some place bigger. The church's small living space wasn't meant for three people, much less four. Keeping Wolfwood and Knives in close quarters also seems... very ill-advised. Just thinking about having to deal with that particular situation is already giving Vash a preemptive headache. There's no way he can leave either of them to live on their own though. He wants to have them both near him where he can see them alive and make sure they stay that way, utterly selfish though that may be. However, getting them to be civil with one another is going to be a struggle and a half if their encounter just now is anything to go by.

It'll be worth it if he can manage it. Somehow.

Offering the pack of smokes gets the desired reaction and Vash can't help but smile at it, secretly glad he hasn't been smoking that many of the cigarettes. As for how he got them, he can only shrug. ]

They were just there with me when I first arrived here.

[ Lying nearby where he woke up and it had felt like a punch to the gut seeing them. It's the only instance of seeing Wolfwood's particular brand about so he's figured it arrived with him in the same mysterious manner he had. Stranger things have happened since.

His pleasure doesn't last long when it becomes obvious Wolfwood intends to light a cigarette right there and then. A swift step forward has Vash in his friend's space and plucking the cigarette right from Wolfwood's mouth with two fingers and a stern protest. ]

No smoking inside! Wait until we step out.

[lastdecember]

[ Any other day he'd be suspicious as all hell that Vash's kidnappers has decided to deliver him here with a pack of Wolfwood's cigarettes. It makes it seem like bringing him here was part of their plan all along, doesn't it? And that just lends credence to his worry that he's here as a torment to Vash -- after all, whoever kidnapped them sure didn't do it out of the kindness of their heart, not with everything Vash just told him about what life here is like. No, later on, when he's had time to process everything that's happened, he'll have a real worry about what his presence here means for Vash, and what kind of a trap he might have been brought here to be.

Right now, though? Right now his own pack of cigarettes is wet and muddy and encrusted with old dried blood, and dammit, he's going to smoke one of Vash's! ]

No way! I'll freeze out there!

[ He lunges for the stolen cigarette with his own two grasping fingers, this squabble reminding him of fighting over a meal with Vash the first time they'd been reunited, when his hair was long and he'd been calling himself Eriks. ]

Just let me have the one!

[amo]

[ Apparently none of their reunions are ever complete without them devolving into bickering over something stupid. That's just them. The way Vash responds is practically automatic, immediately stretching his arm out and leaning away to keep the cigarette out of Wolfwood's reach. ]

No!! A lot of people live here, they don't need to smell your shitty cigarettes! Especially not in the kitchen!

[ Falling back on their usual back-and-forth comes as easy as breathing; it's like slipping on an old favorite coat, worn and familiar. It's the most normal he's felt since— forever, it feels like. Even though in truth it's been less than a year. Grief has a weird way of distorting time. He's been having to find new normals in this place, with his twin and his new brother. But this is old and dear, so very much missed, and he lets it bolster him, his chest feeling lighter for it.

He twists his torso away and hastily puts the cigarette between his own lips to free up his hands so he can fend off Wolfwood more easily. Mostly it's so he can reach for the abandoned bowl once he's ducked and slipped past Wolfwood. Since Wolfwood hadn't answered him, Vash is making the decision for him and getting his friend a refill of the stew, arguing around the cigarette in his mouth as he goes. ]

We'll get you some warmer clothes, eat more first!

[lastdecember]

[ Every interaction in Wolfwood's life revolves around fighting – that's just how life is, in his experience. He likes fighting with Vash, though, not that he'd ever think of it in those words. But it's safe to bicker with this annoying idiot. Vash will never hurt him, not really – what's a punch or two between friends? – and Vash will never make him hurt somebody else. There's nobody in the world he trusts more than this man... although that trust won't stop him from knocking the jerk down if he doesn't give that cigarette back! ]

Don't offer a man cigarettes then take them away, you rubber-jointed jerk!

[ If Vash thinks tucking that cigarette into his own mouth will keep it safe from Wolfwood, he's got another think coming. Before he can ladle up any of that stew Wolfwood feints low, then moves in close. His aim is to catch Vash at the back of his stupid spikey head with one hand, fingers tight in that floppy black hair to hold him still while he plucks the cigarette free from his lips with the other.

Sure he's got the rest of the pack in his pocket now, and sure, his cravings aren't nearly so bad that he can't wait another couple of minutes, but it's the principle of the thing! And, too, this is exactly what he needed after the morning's stress and fear – a safe, friendly fight to get his heart really pumping and remind him about what's important. ]

[amo]

[ It doesn't matter that Wolfwood already has the entire pack and can simply grab another one if he so chooses to, that's not what this is about. Not truly. They both need this. Maybe it's not the best or healthiest way of coping, but it's theirs and theirs alone. In lieu of a bottle, this is the next best thing they'll have to settle for. ]

Well, excuse me for thinking you'd have enough common sense to wait, you lousy priest!

[ He manages to snatch up the bowl and get to the stove where it's really only a matter of time before Wolfwood catches up given that Vash has to stop and stay put in place. Still, he makes a valiant attempt and tries to be quick about it... to no avail. He only gets as far as picking the ladle up before there's a hand on the back of his head, fingers curling tight enough in rot-black hair to make Vash yelp. With the bowl in one hand and the ladle in the other, he doesn't have much to defend himself with anymore.

Not that it's ever stopped him before.

Vash doesn't hesitate to make use of what little he does have to work with, twisting to try and push Wolfwood back (or at least deliver a jab) with a pointy elbow as well as raising one leg to try and drive him back with a shin to Wolfwood's abdomen. It leaves him precariously balancing on one leg. And although it smarts like hell and makes his eyes water, he also tries to resist the grip and turn his head away, rolling the cigarette to the other side of his mouth with a certain practiced ease to keep it as far away as possible while letting out a muffled: ]

Geroff!

[lastdecember]

[ They haven't had a chance to fight like this in ages, and it feels like coming home. Not that he'd say so, if asked. Not that he even recognizes the feeling himself. Vash is frustrating, too moralistic, and slobbering all over his cigarette! That warmth fluttering excitedly in his chest? That's just adrenaline, and he'll fight anyone – including himself – who says otherwise. ]

Give it!

[ Vash twists his head away just enough to keep the cigarette out of Wolfwood's grasp, hitting back with a one-two of an elbow and a kick to the gut that leaves him unsteady on a single leg. Vash is more flexible than he is, Wolfwood knows, so in a contest of balance and bending, he won't win. But Wolfwood's a better grappler – or so he thinks – so obviously the best course of action is to take out Vash's remaining leg as he falls, bringing the bony bastard down with him, then pin him to the floor and claim his prize. What could go wrong? ]

[amo]

[ Vash probably should have seen it coming. Of course Wolfwood would play dirty, but just as he'd hoped his friend would have the sense not to smoke indoors (and in a kitchen no less), he'd figured Wolfwood would have enough sense not to turn this into a near all-out brawl while Vash has his hands full.

He was woefully wrong. ]

No-

[ The protest has only barely left his mouth before a blow connects with the leg currently supporting all of his weight. Maybe it's because he wasn't entirely expecting it or maybe it's because he no longer has the inhuman strength he once had, but his knee buckles under the force easily. He can't get his other leg back down fast enough and so down Vash the Stampede goes. Both the bowl and the cigarette go flying, the ceramic bouncing once and then shattering with a loud crash and the cigarette rolling who knows where after slipping from his lips.

Vash hits the ground hard and normally it wouldn't be too much of a problem, he's used to it — knows how to fall and brace himself perfectly well. Mentally he's already prepared to try and trap Wolfwood with the use of his gangly limbs before Wolfwood can go for the fallen cigarette. But what goes wrong is this: the impact makes it feel like something in Vash's chest is knocked loose and there's the telltale itch in his throat that he desperately tries to suppress to no avail. Still recovering from his bout of illness as he is, the remnants of it linger and now promptly launch him into a coughing fit. All he can do is turn his head to press it into his arm and let it run its course. He prays V got his brother out of here by now or else Knives might come bursting into the kitchen to forcibly haul him back home and into bed to languish in boredom.

He's left wheezing and too winded in the aftermath to enact his original plan and so, realizing he's still holding the ladle, he uses that to weakly swat at Wolfwood while drawing in enough air to yell in a raspy voice. ]

Ugh, you idiot!! Do you want to get kicked out!?

[lastdecember]

[ Vash goes down as planned, but then he just keeps falling, hitting the ground harder than Wolfwood expected he would and letting the bowl slip from his grasp. That, before the coughing even kicks in, is what tells Wolfwood there's something very wrong here. Whoever can knock the other down just depends on the day and the mood and a thousand other little things – Vash has always been supernaturally fast and strong, but Wolfwood can read him like a book, and that's made them pretty close to equals in hand to hand.

But even if Vash decided to take the fall, he shouldn't have dropped that bowl.Wolfwood's already easing off his hold once that coughing fit starts, and by the tie Vash swats him with the ladle, he's sitting on his heels at Vash's side, confusion and worry written all over his face.

He didn't know Vash could get sick. ]

What... [ It takes him a second to wind back up to arguing, trying to conceal his worry with rude confrontation. ] You're the idiot! What were you thinking, making food for everyone when you're sick?!

[ Is this just sickness? A cold, from getting too cold? We don't have our powers anymore Vash had said, and he looks so weary, and weak. He's never been weak before. Wolfwood's gaze flits up again to that dark dark hair now hanging in Vash's eyes, and he has to tear himself away, springing to his feet with nervous energy. There's got to be a broom in here, and he'll find it, to clear away that broken bowl.

He was just playing around, and he nearly hurt his friend. His hands are shaking again, and he clenches them tight into fists to make the motion stop. ]

You should've said something, dummy!

[amo]

[ He's made a terrible mistake, he realizes too late. At the very least he should have caught the bowl, should have been able to, but there's no denying he's slower and more sluggish now, exhaustion still stubbornly hounding his body as it does its best to recover from his first time ever catching a (human) sickness. He'd underestimated all of it every step of the way, learned about and empathized even more with what humans regularly have to go through with their frail, decaying bodies. He was never supposed to fall ill like that. Then again, he's in a more active state of decay now, too.

There's a rising dread when Wolfwood backs off all too quickly, too easily, looking at him with that all too familiar expression. Vash is sick (ha ha) of seeing dark hair and blue eyes filled with such earnest concern on him like that. It doesn't help at all that he feels, distinctly, like he ruined the moment and shattered their much-needed sense of normalcy. All because he couldn't stay upright and dropped the stupid bowl. ]

I'm nooooot.

[ It comes out as a blatant whine that's followed by the put-upon sigh of someone who has had to argue he's fine now, stop fussing, for a million times. Anything to quickly distract from how Wolfwood's eyes dart to his hair. His friend can be far too clever for his own good sometimes. After his other self's reaction to the news of what their blackened hair meant, Vash can't bear to tell him. ]

I WAS sick. I'm doing much better now, I'll have you know!

[ A truth thrown out there to hastily distract from another obvious one. Save for an occasional itch in his throat or some old phlegm being coughed up, he's recovered sufficiently enough to be out and about doing things; a freedom he'd had to earn in the eyes of an overbearing worried older brother. Sure, he tires out much quicker, but that's nothing a few extra breaks can't mitigate.

Vash pushes himself up into a proper sit, ignoring the hot twist in his gut that's akin to shame or guilt as Wolfwood rushes to his feet, all frenetic energy again. Vash should have been better prepared for his friend's antics — it's not been so long that he could have forgotten — and he should not have shown weakness like that. He tries and fails not to sulk about it. ]

I'm fine. Worry about yourself, I'm not the one who's hurt!

[lastdecember]

[ Kitchens are the same in every world, he discovers, finding a broom and dustpan just like he expected to, and confirming the presence of the trash bin in the corner before he heads over to sweep up the broken bowl. Big brother Wolfwood, moving on automatic, always ready to jump in and clean up everyone else's mess, the familiar movements of clearing away the fragments giving him something normal to focus on, instead of Vash's illness.

Granted, he's only really known this gangly pile of trouble for about a year, but in all that time he's never once seen any signs of illness. Sure, he got hangovers sometimes – with how he drank there wasn't any avoiding that – but Wolfwood had never seen him with a cough, or a fever. Or infections either, for that matter, not even when burned or stabbed. Deep wounds always festered, on everyone but him. It was part of what made him so sturdy, so beyond mortal limitations. Not any longer, though, it seems.

He gets sick now.

What else is different? ]

My wrist is fine, don't change the subject!

[ The last of the tiny fragments get swept into the dustpan, and Wolfwood carefully brings them over to the trash to dispose of them. I'm fine, Vash whines, but he's not getting up. Wolfwood swallows hard, forcing the lump in his throat down. What if he'd thrown a friendly punch, instead of going for a leg sweep? Or a throw? The Grader in his shoulder harness bumps against the underside of his arm as he taps the dustpan into the bin, raising a whole new worry – if he can't avoid a simple takedown move, can Vash even dodge bullets anymore?

Can he even fight? ]

That cough sounds like shit, Spikey. If you're sick you should be resting, or you'll never get better.

[ They're not here voluntarily, which means at some point there's going to be a fight. If Vash can't fight, and Wolfwood's only got a handgun...? He'll have to talk to the other one, the one who isn't Vash's kid. He needs to know what their defenses look like.

He needs to keep this man safe, at all costs. ]

C'mon, old man. [ All Wolfwood needs is his blanket, and he's ready to go. ] Where're you staying? Better not be too far.

[ A new wardrobe, questions for Methuselah, drinks... that all can wait. A cough like that should be inside, in the warmth, not running around in the ice and cold taking care of people who can look after their own damn selves. ]

[amo]

[ While Wolfwood deals with the mess on the floor, Vash glances around to see where the cigarette might have landed. He's staying down where he is because it makes searching easier so low to the ground and not at all because it's the first time he's sat down in hours and he needs to catch his breath in the wake of the coughing fit. He's choosing to stay down for convenience, that's all.

Even though he already knows the kind of treatment that he's likely to receive now — they've always berated and fussed over each other's injuries in their own ways — he's still vaguely hoping not to be treated any differently than just before when they were tussling and bickering as usual. He doesn't need yet another person to treat him like he's going to keel over at the slightest breeze. He gets that enough from his brothers.

... Of course his hope gets dashed when Wolfwood next opens his mouth.

He resists the urge to throw the ladle at Wolfwood's head in an attempt to provoke another fight, aware that the bait is unlikely to work. He settles instead for pausing his search to glare at his friend. ]

I'm telling you, I'm already doing much better! I've been recovering just fine.

[ The glare turns more sullen, more of a pout, as he adds in a quiet mutter something to the affect of 'you sound just like Knives'. It's just as he's turning his head away while grousing that he catches a glimpse of white on the floor, right under the stool he'd gotten Wolfwood. Shifting to crawl over and grab it, his fingers stop just short of reaching it when Wolfwood delivers the next blow. Vash immediately looks back with an expression that's somewhere between stricken and offended. ]

Who are you calling an old man?! I'm plenty young!

[ For a plant anyway. He's not even two centuries old!

With a huff, he's snatching up the cigarette and finally getting back on his feet to deposit the ladle by the rest of the dirty dishes. There's a slight hesitation before he answers the question, fearing that the location itself is going to betray too much about the depth of his grief and yet knowing that sharing it is going to be inevitable. ]

There's a church near the outskirts of town. I've been staying there with my brothers.

[ It's a small town, the walk there isn't going to be much of a problem. The presence of his twin might be though. ]