wings of feathers, tails and fin tips

[amo]

Who: Vash & YOU?
What: January (+ backdated December) catch-all, includes an open aurora: nascent prompt.
When: All throughout this (and the previous) month.
Where: The Church, Milton's surroundings.
Content Warnings: Will be added as necessary here if not mentioned in the thread itself.



prompts & starters ↯

( plotting | permissions & sing-specific info | gusts )

feel free to hit me up on the plotting post or plurk if you want a personalized starter!
i'm down for any wildcard prompts too & always happy to match format.

Comments

[lastdecember]

[ How the hell did this get turned all around? He came out here to see what was going on with Vash's wings, and to make sure there wasn't anything wrong there, but suddenly the focus is all on him and the fact that he's not freezing anymore?

That's not how it works, Vash says, like he's got any idea how Wolfwood works! Like a single half-dead confession out in the badlands gives him any concept just how adaptable Wolfwood's been made to be, how much effort went into designing him to survive anything and everything. Acclimating to the cold is exactly the kind of thing he'd expect from his messed up, ever-shifting insides... and he's just about to say something to that effort, something he'd regret deeply, when Vash hits on the answer. ]

Oh come on.

[ The thought pulls all the wind right out of his sails and Wolfwood slumps back, thinking through his most recent weird dream. He has to nod -- yeah, he dreamed about the lights in the sky. And then he dreamed about being warm -- on fire, but still. Warm.

And now he's warm. He's been changed. ]

God dammit!

[ Whatever's around to kick is getting kicked, and if there's anything -- other than Vash -- to punch, then he's going to bloody his knuckles against it. ]

Can everybody just stop changing me however they like?!

[amo]

[ The dismayed reaction says more than enough, the nod isn't even necessary anymore. It instantly makes Vash curious as to what Wolfwood's dream might have been. He and Knives had the same one and ended up being able to talk telepathically in the aftermath, so it's likely Wolfwood's must have been different. What kind of dream leads to an increase in body temperature? Is there more to it than just being able to bear the cold better?

Before he can ask anything, Wolfwood curses and Vash's curiosity is promptly forgotten as his stomach drops. Knowing what he knows now about Wolfwood's past, it's no wonder he responds like this. Vash has taken the change in stride even if it takes a little getting used to, but no one can blame Wolfwood for being mad. ]

Wolfwood... I'm sorry.

[ He holds out his hands in an attempt to placate and soothe. With his gaze remaining on Wolfwood's face, he's not paying attention to his wings and feathers and it gives the feather that had been trying to reach Wolfwood previously another opportunity to do so. Vash is oblivious to it, the feather moving to curl around Wolfwood's wrist while he desperately tries to think of anything to say to alleviate his friend's (justified) anger. ]

I think whoever did this is just trying to help us.

[ If they meant them harm, they would not have given them powers that allowed them to connect and survive better, right? ]

[lastdecember]

[ That dream the other night warned them, didn't it? That fucking threat from that fucking woman -- see how you'll be changed, or whatever it was that she'd said. He'd been expecting something more drastic, honestly, bigger and more obviously for combat than being warm. But maybe they're starting small. Maybe this is just the beginning of the changes.

His heart's thudding against his ribs, fury -- and the first threads of panic -- threatening to overtake him when Vash's feather wraps softly around his wrist, halting him mid-thought. He's seen those things stop bullets and so he doesn't dare pull away -- Vash said he doesn't have control over them anymore, so who knows what the feather would do if he fought back? Would it let go, or would it tighten?

A shackle's still a shackle, though, whether it's meant in kindness or not. The feather has the desired effect -- he stops pacing, stops shouting, but his voice is still tight with suppressed anger when he finally manages to speak. ]

Yeah. Yeah, they're helping us to be better. [ Is the feather going to let go now? He's calm. See how fucking calm he is. ] I've heard that line before.

[ If they're coming for them in their dreams, then he'll just have to sleep less. Short sleeps, with no time for dreams -- he's done it before and he can do it again. ]

[amo]

[ He's not sure whether to count his attempts at being soothing as successful when Wolfwood is almost vibrating with anger, but at least he's gone more still and quiet. Vash stays close in his personal space, resisting the urge to reach out for his hands or to put his on Wolfwood's shoulders or— something, wholly ignorant of how the one unruly feather has already gone ahead against his wishes. In Wolfwood's stillness, it gently wends further down after capturing his wrist, moving across his palm to slip through his fingers; betraying the very desire Vash is trying to suppress. It being the very end of a single feather, not anywhere near the nerves where the feathers attach to the wings, means that Vash isn't really feeling it either. ]

No one's going to take you and make you do anything here, I promise.

[ Does he have any business making such promises? Probably not. That's not going to stop Vash though, it never has. He intends to keep it, no matter what. After all... ]

« They'll have to go through me. »

[ There is a fierce protectiveness woven through the very thought; an unshakeable resolve not to lose what he's lost before. He'll do anything he can to make life better for them here, too, if he can. Milton and its mysteries don't make it easy — the chase for happiness all the more elusive in the face of everything they're up against, most of it unknown — yet Vash is not deterred. Wolfwood and his brothers deserve better and although Vash can't provide it, he'll do whatever he can do. That certainly includes guarding what bit of freedom they have here.

He may not have his powers, but he still has his gun, his skills, and his relentless stubborn force of will. It's gotten him this far. ]

We'll figure this out, okay? Together. [ 'This time' is left implied. ]

[lastdecember]

[ The feather doesn't let go. He's calm, heart pounding in his wrist beneath the feather's grip but outwardly there's no sign any more. He's spent too long learning how to conceal his reactions, learning to accept the unacceptable without flinching, to let himself stay obviously mad when Vash wants him calm. His rage has always been a hot thing, quick to flare up but just as quick to die back, and today's no exception. There's no benefit to anyone in a temper tantrum – he needs to hurt somebody to fix this, and there's nobody here to hurt, so he's fine. He's calm.

But the feather doesn't let go. Vash is making him sweet impossible promises, both with his words and with that slightly buzzing mental speech, but Wolfwood's only half listening, because the feather isn't letting go. The feather is, in fact, holding his hand – it's the only way to describe it. It's slipped down over his palm and curled between his fingers, and it's that more than anything that finally actually settles the fire churning beneath his skin.

They'll have to go through me.

He's not the only one affected here, he thinks, unable to resist giving the feather-hand a squeeze. He's got a friend, and they're both in this mess together. All of them are, really – the other Vash, and even that asshole brother of theirs, all of them trapped here. Together. ]

You know you're projecting, right?

[ He raises the hand that's being held in Vash's feather to tap one finger against his own temple.]

I heard you earlier, thinkin' too loud. Is that a plant thing, or did you get helped too?

[ Is he going to say anything about the feather holding his hand? He certainly is not. ]

[amo]

[ Wolfwood hits him with a double whammy and Vash is entirely unprepared for it. First it's the statement that catches him off guard, both surprising and confusing him until Wolfwood raises his hand and taps his temple and then he's hit by the next shock when he sees his feather intertwined between Wolfwood's fingers. The sight briefly makes him forget the previous statement entirely, heat flooding his face and staining his cheeks and the tips of his ears crimson. He wants to rip his feather away immediately, but pulling on it will mean tugging on Wolfwood's hand and— ]

Huh? Wha- oh! Oh no, I'm sorry!

[ He only proceeds to get more embarrassed when it becomes crystal clear what Wolfwood is talking about, visibly so. ]

« How much- »

[ No, on second thought, he doesn't want to know how much Wolfwood heard. He's already mortified and flustered enough. Now that he knows he's been projecting, he's also promptly trying to cut it off. It's still a struggle to get a sense of when he's doing it, but now that it's been pointed out, he can feel it. He's quick to start babbling to cover it up. ]

It's not a plant thing, plant speak is different. Knives and I had the same dream and we've been able to talk like this since. The Aurora made some sort of connection, I think? Sorry about that. And this. Stupid things always doing whatever they want...

[ As he mutters darkly to himself, Vash is reaching out for Wolfwood's hand to untangle his treacherous feather from his friend's fingers. Today is just a day for making a fool out of himself, it seems. Maybe he should've stayed inside after all. ]

[lastdecember]

[ Vash turns red to the tips of his ears when he sees what his feather's doing, and it's the final distraction that Wolfwood needs from his frustrated rage at this place. He really doesn't have any control over these feathers, does he?

He could take pity on Vash, hold out his hand, uncurl his fingers from around the soft feathers and let Vash reclaim his wing and some of his pride. He could. But it's funnier to hold out his other hand instead, stopping Vash's advance and pulling that hand-holding feather up protectively close to his chest. ]

If it wants to be friendly, let it be friendly. It's not hurting anything.

[ Vash and Knives both shared a dream -- or had the same one, he's not clear on that -- and they woke up being able to talk in people's minds? This can't have just affected them. Chances are the rest of the newcomers woke up from nightmares to find themselves changed, too. He's warm, and Vash can talk with his mind. Wonder what other changes were made to people? He'll have to ask around. ]

I never got a chance to really look at 'em, before. [ He looks down at the feather in his hand, talking to it like it were a cat. ] He hasn't brushed you at all, has he? He's so neglectful.

[amo]

[ Vash automatically halts his movements when Wolfwood holds up his free hand and bids him to. His puzzled gaze darts from that hand to the feather-laced one that Wolfwood raises to his chest and then his face with an obvious unspoken question until Wolfwood speaks. He can't help but splutter, face growing even hotter, at how Wolfwood proceeds to treat his feather like it's a poor, neglected pet. Not that he can entirely refute the accusation when he's standing there with snow-soaked, bedraggled wings, but still... ]

They're just feathers! They don't need brushing when they're just gonna disappear again anyway!

[ Try as he might to will the feather to let go and come back of its own accord, it... decidedly doesn't budge an inch to Vash's continued frustration and embarrassment. It's this teasing more than any of his brother's chiding and fussing that makes him maybe feel a tad bad about it in that ashamed, self-conscious way. He's never been good about accepting this part of him; monstrous in his own eyes. At least he's flustered enough to finally cave. ]

Ugh, let's just go inside somewhere.

[ He'll go dry his stupid wings. Which he can't control. But what he can control is the rest of his body and so by turning to the side he can still give Wolfwood that closer look via a face-full of feathers as he uses the twisting of his whole frame to direct his largest wing right into Wolfwood's face. It's like petty payback or getting the petulant last word in even as he's capitulating.

Discussing the dreams and their newfound powers will be nicer somewhere dry and less cold anyway. Wolfwood might be warm and toasty, but Vash sure isn't. ]

[lastdecember]

[ He'd always assumed Vash's singular hairstyle was an affectation, something to make him look sillier and less threatening, but as Vash turns and smacks him with one of his wings, Wolfwood can't help but wonder if it's a style chosen because Vash doesn't have to do anything to it, day to day. His blond spikes used to stick up day and night, in any conditions, glued in place with sweat and dust and who knows what else.

I don't have to brush them if they're only here for a little while. He's heard that argument before, from little kids who didn't want to clean up or make their beds or put their things away -- he didn't accept that nonsense then, and he's sure as hell not accepting it now from a grown man.

Shaking his head more or less free of the feathery mess -- they're wet, and a little muddy, and the mess makes some of them stick to him -- Wolfwood falls into step right at Vash's side, the feather holding his hand between them. ]

You already got sick once, dummy. Runnin' around with wet hair... or wet feathers, just seems like a good way to get yourself sick again.

[ Plus, he's seen them outstretched in all their glory, and they're beautiful. Unwieldy, sure, undoubtedly a pain in the ass when going through doorways or trying to sleep, but they're a part of him! For somebody who puts so much effort into training every morning, to see him neglecting his wings just doesn't sit right. ]

Have a little pride in 'em.

[amo]

[ The satisfaction his petty revenge brings him as he watches Wolfwood shake himself free from the damp feathery mess doesn't last long when his disobedient feather isn't letting go nor is Wolfwood pulling his hand free from it even as they turn and start to walk. Seeing it remain curled and woven through Wolfwood's fingers — it looks... kind of like holding hands, doesn't it — causes the heat to linger in his cheeks. He's quick to look away and adamantly ignore it, pretending he's not keenly aware of the contact in his peripheral. That Wolfwood is so accepting of his more plant-like form is— not surprising, per se, not when he's always known what Vash is, but he'd been afraid before and so this easy acceptance and curiosity sure is making Vash feel some type of way. (He's ignoring that, too.)

The reprimand is met with a huff and a mutter under his breath that goes something along the lines of "it's not that big of a deal" although he doesn't actually argue. The thing is, Wolfwood is probably right. Not having suffered from any kind of human illness before, he doesn't know exactly what might get him sick and what won't. Being cold is the default state of being here, being a little colder because of his wings hardly seems like it should make any difference. Then again, going out in the storm and getting colder than he's ever been before had likely been the reason he'd gotten sick in the first place.

He feels thoroughly chided when Wolfwood adds a comment about pride and he's also struck once again by how alike Wolfwood and Knives sound. He almost comments on it, but refrains when he knows it's a comparison that Wolfwood certainly won't appreciate and one that might set him off. It's not a comparison he ever would have made before coming here, yet now he can't stop making it. It's the same sort of fussing and nagging he's been enduring at the hands of his twin for months now. Telling him to take pride in his wings is the exact sort of thing Knives would say.

But Vash has never been good in taking pride in what he is, far better at denying the part of himself that sets him apart from the humans he so dearly loves. It's unlikely he'll change that any time soon. ]

I don't see why I should. They're just troublesome...

[ He grumbles with no small amount of petulance. Maybe if they still functioned, he'd feel a bit differently about them. However, in this place they're merely a nuisance. ]

[lastdecember]

[ Being cold's the default state here, sure, just like being hot was the default state back home. But even the dumbest of dumbasses back on Noman's knew that if you got too hot you got sick from it, so you had to stay cool, find shade, drink water, and not just walk around letting the weather kick your ass! Vash doesn't get to worry about Wolfwood's damn gloves when his feathers are getting soaked, okay?

(And he better fucking not ever compare Wolfwood to Knives again, not if he knows what's good for him!)

At least the feather that's holding his hand has managed to stay nice and dry. They really are soft, aren't they? Wolfwood can't help but run his thumb over it, learning its texture and shape, as they head towards the nearest open building. It's hard to imagine something this soft being able to stop a bullet. Are they still that strong, he can't help but wonder? Could he arm wrestle with it, and find out?

Just picture Vash's face when he brings up that brilliant idea! ]

They're troublesome? Why? Because they don't do what you tell 'em to anymore?

[ He knows he's pushing into territory that's not really any of his business, but if Vash is going to look like a spooked toma every month, then he's got to learn how to deal with troublesome! He can't run away from this problem, and ignoring it is just the same as running away. Men face their problems head on, dammit, whether those problems are serious or silly. ]

Because they get in your way and mess up the way you like doin' things? Can't imagine what that's like.

[amo]

[ He'll continue his hypocritical fussing all he likes, thanks.

Vash can very faintly feel what Wolfwood's doing, the slight vibrations of the movements send up to where nerves can perceive it. It makes it harder to ignore it and pretend he's not thoroughly flustered by this whole interaction. No matter how it tugs on his attention, he still doesn't look. Can't bear to when he has no idea how to handle anyone treating this monstrous side of him with such undeserved gentleness, least of all someone who has seen him at his most destructive and out of control. His feathers might be harmless and soft now, but they certainly haven't always been.

Here they're a burden in all the ways Wolfwood goes on to question much to Vash's growing annoyance. (At least it helps him to forget his embarrassment.) They betray his inhuman nature in the most visible way possible, they're rendered useless without their ability to harden and move in accordance to his own will, they're cumbersome to move and navigate around with. He's been secretly envious of Vee and his beautiful glowing markings which, although still plainly show his heritage for the world to see, at least don't get in the way and require different adjusted clothing the way his wings and feathers do. It's an inconvenience he can do without when so much is already a struggle for survival as is.

He stops staring downwards at his moving feet in the snow to glower at Wolfwood. Frankly, it really isn't any of his friend's business nor can he ever fully understand what it's like when, no matter how much he's been changed, he's still so very human at his core and doesn't appear anything more or less so. Still, Vash bites rather than telling him to stuff it like he's tempted to do. ]

What are you getting at?

[lastdecember]

[ Well shit, that went sideways fast. He stops when Vash does, and not only because they're still joined together by that feather (a feather Wolfwood's now trying surreptitiously to slide his hand free of – holding Vash's wing-hand was funny at first, but Spikey's not laughing anymore). It's not like he can just come out and say I want you to stop hating yourself so much. He can't even think it, not in those words. That's too... too personal, too invasive. Too much Vash's business, and not his own. He knows this. Of course he knows this.

But knowing something and being good with it are two entirely different things. The wings might be a nuisance, but it's not simple annoyance that's got Vash letting them drag through the ice and mud, is it? He's pretending they aren't there, ignoring them as much as he can, and that's unsafe. That's going to get him sick again, or snagged in the brush and hurt, or, more seriously, caught by an enemy. If Vash can't keep his feathers under control enough to walk down the street, how's he going to be able to fight when the time comes?

His words were a mistake, he realizes, running back over what was just said with not a little regret. He'd been meaning it to be a crack about having somebody stuck to your side who's every action is an annoyance, who makes you change the way you're doing things because they can't be changed themselves, who never fucking listens. It'd been a dumb joke, sure, but it had been a joke.

It just didn't land that way.

He holds his hands up in brief surrender – peace, friend, he was wrong and he admits it, okay? – trying to find the words to say things that he's not allowed to say. ]

That was supposed to be a joke. [ Whoops? ] I just meant... shit, Spikey, if this is gonna happen every time the damn sky lights up, then you've got to do something with 'em other than letting 'em drag around!

[ Is he just digging himself deeper into that hole? Maybe? ]

I get that they don't work like they used to but look, if they grabbed me then maybe they can grab other stuff?

cw: allusions to self-harm & amputation

[amo]

[ He knows what Wolfwood meant, understood that it had been a dig at him, but it doesn't make the sore spot that got inadvertently pressed sting any less. He also knows that he's potentially being unfair and snapping at Wolfwood when the other man doesn't deserve it. He's just trying to help, in his own abrasive way. What he goes on to say certainly isn't wrong. Vash needs a better way of handling his transformed state. His usual method of simply hiding away inside somewhere might have worked so far, but it's not sustainable. That much is evident by the fact that the Aurora is lingering longer than usual. What if they start lasting for weeks? His coward's way of dealing with it (or rather the lack of) is not going to be feasible in the long run. Especially if it coincides with any danger happening.

The Aurora's effect on him just remains a bitter pill to swallow. If his wings and feathers were still useful, it'd be easier to accept them. Now he just drags around their dead weight with all the awful reminders that come with seeing them. It doesn't help that there's no easy solution save for perhaps an unthinkable one that's occurred to him in the form of an intrusive thought that his brother would kill him for if he knew. (Knives wouldn't, but he'd be so furious. His brother's disappointment at Vash's rejection of his true nature is already enough to deal with.) But who's to say that would even take, that they wouldn't grow back with the next Aurora.

Vash sighs, the glower melting away for an expression that's simply tired and worn. ]

They're just feathers, Wolfwood. They can't lift a thing.

[ Case in point: Wolfwood's attempt to surreptitiously get his hand free is met with about as much resistance as dealing with a stray tangled hair would, there's no real force behind the feather's grip. Wolfwood's freedom is further assured by the way Vash's wings and feathers respond to his emotions, curling forward slightly with the same self-soothing urge Vash usually caves to when he's sitting with his knees pulled up. They don't wrap around him entirely, but they do enter his own line of vision and Vash looks at them with defeated resignation. He reaches out, plucking out a loose feather that he rests on his palm, holding out his hand and watching the wind pick the feather up and send it drifting up into the sky. When he speaks, his voice is wistful despite his attempt at sounding casual. ]

Y'know, I actually learned to fly before I got here.

[lastdecember]

[ He doesn't speak feather, but the way Vash's wings curl around him sure seems sad, but all Wolfwood can do is watch with frustrated empathy. He knows what it's like to hate yourself, knows only too well what it's like to be disgusted by the shape in the mirror, to be horrified by the way bodies can change, shift, be twisted and perverted into something unnatural and shameful and dangerous. He gets it. And he was there at Jeneora Rock – he was there at the Dragon's Nest. He saw what those feathers could do, once upon a time, and he saw, close-up and personal in a way he'll never forget, how frightened Vash had been at what his body was doing, at how little control he had. He gets it.

But other than a brief glance when he first arrived here, Wolfwood hasn't looked in a mirror in years, and doesn't plan to ever again. His body's a tool that he's been given to use, like his gun, and like his gun he maintains it, cleans it, tends to it when it's damaged, but there's no joy there. There's no celebration of what it can do, no satisfaction when it performs well or pleasure at its appearance. He doesn't take any pride it in, and it was hypocritical of him to say that Vash should be any different.

But Vash is different. Vash is better, and he deserves better. He deserves to be able to fly again. He deserves to be happy. ]

C'mon.

[ There's still dozens of empty houses in the town, picked over for clothes, food, medicines and weapons, but otherwise just as they were left when their owners vanished. Wolfwood reaches through the feathers to put a hand on Vash's shoulder and gives it a squeeze, before steering the man towards the nearest shuttered and quiet empty home. It'll be cold inside, but he's betting there's chairs in the front room and towels wherever the shower is. ]

You could really fly? Not just jumpin' extra high, but flappin' these and really flying?

[amo]

[ The hand that finds his way to his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly, comes as a soothing balm. Vash offers no resistance when Wolfwood starts steering him away, letting himself be led easily as his feet pick up their previous pace again. Even if Vash doesn't think he deserves it, the easy acceptance and handling is comforting despite it all. He probably should have expected it coming from his best friend. Wolfwood had stood by him even when he'd been terrified and now that Vash is rendered powerless, there's not much to fear despite the visible manifestations of his heritage. Still, it remains a novel and a wondrous thing to be treated the same as usual even if there have been other fellow Interlopers who hadn't batted an eye at his appearance. (It means all the more coming from Wolfwood though.)

He hums an affirmative at the question as he nods. ]

Mmhm, soaring like a bird. I didn't really have time to enjoy it, I was trying to make sure the Earth Forces wouldn't blast us out of the sky and I passed out shortly afterward.

[ Which is really glossing over the whole situation and the circumstances in which he'd been forced to learn how to fly on the spot; do or die for both himself and his brother. Vash isn't elaborating either, just barrelling right on through with continued wistfulness. ]

But just imagine how useful it would be here.

[ Exploring would be made so much easier if he was still capable of flight. Threats could be spotted more easily from above, vast distances covered more swiftly than his feet could ever carry him now, he could go anywhere. If there are other towns out there, they could be reached and he'd probably be able to get back to Milton within the same day. He could finally channel the part of him he loathes most into something that can be useful and beneficial for the whole town.

If only.

That small panic-laden taste of flight is all he'll ever get to know and it's a shame. Maybe it's stupid to miss something he never truly got to have in the first place, but he can dream beyond the memory-filled dreams of hot, sandy winds and a hole in his gut draining his life away while his brother shouts desperately in his ear and the fear of Knives being obliterated with the next shot fired urges him on.

It'd just be nice, he thinks, to feel the wind in his feathers again and only that. ]

[lastdecember]

[ He hears that us, and he can make some guesses about the us that the Earth forces would have been shooting at… especially if Vash had been so injured that he couldn’t stay conscious. He won’t ask about that fight, won’t make Vash revisit it, but damned if he doesn’t want to know what happened!

Maybe he’ll make Knives tell him, one day. ]

The air gets colder the higher up you go, doesn’t it?

[ Even though this house is abandoned, Wolfwood still knocks the snow off his boots before entering. It’s dark inside, with all the curtains drawn, and even with the cold temperatures it’s starting to smell a little damp. If they want these empty houses to still be habitable for future Interlopers they should probably be opening them up and airing them out, but that’s a problem for another day. ]

You’d freeze solid before you got more’n a mile up there.

[ It wouldn’t work anyway, is what he means beneath all that apologetic negativity, so don’t feel bad that it’s no longer possible. It would be amazing if Vash could still fly – hell, if his wings worked Wolfwood would have already bullied his way into a ride. He’s wanted to fly since he was just a little thing, and the idea of soaring through the clouds with Vash makes something in his chest feel lighter.

But there’s no point in wanting things you can’t have.

The front room is about what he’d expected: a couch, some chairs, a little table or two, all dim shapes in the darkness. A hallway leads off further into the house, where Wolfwood expects he’ll find bedrooms and the bathroom. ]

Park yourself, Spikey. I’m gonna go find a couple towels.

[ Flying. There’s no point in wanting it, but there’s no harm in thinking about it! High above the world, held up by the wind, sun hot on your back but the breeze keeping you cool, drifting weightlessly… that must have been a hell of a thing to experience. ]

[amo]

[ If asked, Vash would have no qualms talking about the final battle, aside from certain aspects that he'd probably just leave out, but he's not overly keen on talking about it unprompted either. (Even if he knows Wolfwood must be curious.) So long as his friend doesn't ask, Vash doesn't elaborate. Maybe he's just gotten too used to playing the avoidance game with Vee — neither of them ever asking the other about their similarities or their differences no matter how much they burn with curiosity. Either way, Wolfwood doesn't question the comment and so Vash just hums an affirmative to the (mostly rhetorical) question, following suit in kicking the snow off his boots and wiping his feet before following him into the abandoned house.

The old and musty smell that greets them is familiar to Vash by now, used as he's grown to it from his early days when, although he'd returned to the church most often, he hadn't settled in one place and bounced from house to house to take refuge in. There's a certain kind of desolate feeling that comes with entering the houses, catching the remnants of previous occupants in the form of pictures and abandoned belongings that aren't deemed worth looting. It's compounded by the fact that Vash has both buried many of those locals and seen their last moments play out in ghostly scenes. At least it feels a little less lonely and haunting when he has his best friend with him.

Who is ever the realist. ]

It's not as cold as space. I think I could withstand it. Probably.

[ Knives had been able to get close to the Earth Force's ships. Then again, that's when he still had powers and the borrowed strength from their sisters. They're both a lot more vulnerable here. Even if his wings were more functional, it's questionable how far they could get him as he is now — not as inhumanly strong and easier to tire. It's not like he really got to know how much strength it takes to stay airborne. Wolfwood is likely right.

Still, it's a nice wishful bit of thinking. He's missed the anti-gravity chamber of what is essentially his childhood home for nearly as long as he's been alive.

He's snapped out of his wistful half-reminiscing thoughts when Wolfwood bids him to sit down. Dutifully, he meanders off into the front room, opening the curtains to let in some light before taking one of the chairs and turning it around so he can sit on it backwards, folding his arms over the back and leaving his wings free. It's not entirely without protest though as he calls out after Wolfwood. ]

They're just gonna get wet again when I go back outside, y'know.

[ What Wolfwood wants to do is kind, but it feels like it's going to be wasted effort once he inevitably has to make his way back to the church. ]

[lastdecember]

[ Vash has maybe been in outer space is a mental note that Wolfwood jots down to ask about, later. Whether it was as a kid, or later, after Wolfwood was gone, it'll probably be an unhappy memory -- like most of Vash's seem to be -- so he'll save that for another time. Ideally a time when there's alcohol.

He's really got to figure out a way to find or make sugar, so that he can track down the person who posted that notice on the bulletin board about having booze. They'd wanted sugar in trade, so dammit, he needs to find sugar! ]

Oi, give me a little credit, Drippy.

[ The washroom was easy enough to find, even in the dark, and -- wonder of wonders -- the towels on the shelf behind the door don't smell very damp at all. He comes back out in the front room, fully intending to throw the towel at Vash so he can dry his own damn feathers, but he realizes, as he rounds the corner, that Vash might not be able to reach all the wet bits at the back. ]

I'm already six steps ahead of you there, so hold still an' trust me.

[ It's no weirder than stitching up a buddy's back, he tells himself, taking the first clump of wet and muddy feathers into the folds of the towel and gently working them dry. Sure it feels a little like drying his hair for him, but it's not. That would be weird -- this is fine. Better than fine, really. It's... nice, being able to take care of his friend like this.

...Vash didn't hear any of that, right? ]

You can't read my mind, right? Just the other way around?

[amo]

[ Being called 'Drippy' sure has Vash making a face and since Wolfwood isn't anywhere nearby to see it, there's a disgruntled noise to go with it to make his displeasure known. He doesn't comment on it further, letting his gaze stray to the pictures on the wall visible in the dim light falling in through the window. He can barely make out the faces — there's so little light even during the day, he misses the sun something fierce — but he can tell this place must have belonged to a young family. It's sobering, as always, to be reminded of the original populace's loss.

He's snapped out of his somber thoughts when Wolfwood returns with a towel in hand. He's mostly expecting for it to get thrown at his head with the demand he dry himself so it comes as a pleasant surprise when Wolfwood keeps approaching instead. For all that he gives Wolfwood a skeptical look, that he trusts his friend isn't even a question. Of course he does. ]

Fine, if you say so.

[ Vash is slightly tense when Wolfwood starts dabbing his wings dry in that way he can't help being whenever his feathers are touched, still somewhat taken off guard by the gesture. It makes sense for Wolfwood to help out, there are plenty of spots he won't be able to reach himself given the expanse and position of his wings, but there's something about it that feels... sort of intimate. Different from Knives' fussy fretful fingers somehow. He staunchly ignores the thought, resting his chin on his crossed arms as the tension slowly drains out of him while Wolfwood works. This might even be kind of relaxing, it's— ]

Hm? Oh, no. I can't. Looks like I can send thoughts, but only those who had the exact same dream can share anything back. At least that's what I figured is going on with Knives and I.

[ He might have mistaken it for a plant thing if they weren't so thoroughly cut off from their inherited abilities and he couldn't do the same with Vee. That does beg the question: ]

What was your dream about?

[ It might hold a clue as to why Wolfwood is so warm and unbothered by the cold now. ]

[lastdecember]

[ Wolfwood's sigh of relief is quiet, but unmistakeable. Projecting his thoughts seems bad enough, especially if it happens accidentally, but his mind is the only private space he's ever had. Not even Vash gets to be privy to all his thoughts.

So Knives and Vash both had the same dream, huh? Wolfwood massages the mud out of a particularly dirty feather, leaving it somewhat discolored still, but bone dry. Not that he's in the thick of things, he can see just what a big problem having unresponsive wings really is. There's so many feathers, so many limbs, and some of them are huge! He's still pretty sure that they'll fold up and tuck up neatly with some encouragement, but it's gonna take awhile to get everything back here sorted. ]

My dream?

[ So many of these feathers are loose! At what point should he be worried about how many Vash is shedding? It doesn't seem like the hurt when they fall out, and he's not pulling on them or anything like that, they're just... loose. ]

I dreamed I climbed inside a campfire like an idiot, and burned right up.

[ His tone is carefully casual, as if the dream had been funny, or silly, and not painful and horrifying. ]

When I woke up warm, I figured that's what set the dream off, not the other way 'round.

[ He starts in on another wing, methodically rubbing the water right out of the fine down at the base of each feather, and getting some warmth back into those strange limbs. ]

Lemme tell you, Spikey, sometimes nightmares are real sure isn't my favorite thing about this place.

[amo]

[ He catches that sigh and he can't fault Wolfwood for it. Not wanting anyone in your head, perceiving your innermost thoughts that are never meant to be shared, is plenty understandable. The fact that his own keep leaking out is already vexing enough. It would probably drive him mad if he was able to hear everyone's thoughts instead of a select few, too. He's going to have to figure out how to get a better handle on this newfound ability, fast. There are too many thoughts that are best left locked up in his head.

Right now, his focus is a bit more on all the movement and touch he can perceive behind him though. It's— gentle and steadying. A far cry from how he pulls and pushes at his wings with impatient annoyance whenever they inconvenience him in any way. He has nothing but resentment for them and his own touch reflects that. Not Wolfwood. He's handling them with more diligent care than Vash thinks they deserve. Between the gentle susurrus of shifting feathers — loose ones drifting to the floor without Vash even noticing — and the familiar cadence of his friend's voice as he goes on to explain his dream, Vash is lulled further into relaxation, eyes growing heavy. ]

« That feels nice... »

[ The thought escapes him as Wolfwood massages warmth back into the base of a wing with unnaturally heated hands, felt even through the fabric of the towel. He hadn't even realized just how numb from the cold the extra appendages had gotten until feeling is ushered back into them through Wolfwood's ministrations.

There's a sympathetic noise he makes at the end of Wolfwood's explanation in spite of the light tone in which it's delivered, nose scrunching up at the imagined scenario of being burned alive. ]

That definitely sounds a lot more unpleasant than the dream we had.

[ Probably putting it mildly, knowing the Horrors of this place. ]

Ours was about standing in the sky, the Aurora moving through us and filling our heads with noise. There was the woman's voice from before telling us that the Aurora connects us. It didn't feel bad, just overwhelming. I guess we became part of it in some way? Maybe it's the same with the fire.

[lastdecember]

[ At least Vash’s speaking voice and mental voice are different enough that he can tell the difference, Wolfwood thinks, moving on to the next wing like he didn’t hear that quiet, pleased comment. People just don’t have that much control over their own thoughts – he knows he sure doesn’t – and there’s a lot he can forgive if it’s stuff he wasn’t meant to hear anyway. But as much as he secretly likes the idea of snooping on some of Vash’s innermost thoughts – it’s not right, but it’s not like he’s making it happen! – Vash needs to get control over that voice. ]

She wasn’t there in mine, or at least I don’t remember her being there.

[ The topmost of the wet feathers are dry enough now – dry and somewhat frizzled – so Wolfwood moves on to the lowest ones, the ones that had been dragging in the worst of the snow and mud. This isn’t the first time he’s touched them – he’s got dim recollections of Vash wrapping them around him during the fight on the ark, but he’d been fading fast, and doesn’t remember much other than being distantly amazed that a wing that could stop a bullet could be so gentle. ]

Just the aurora lights, and a cave, and the need to grab the fire with my bare hands.

[ It’s part of why he hadn’t realized it was a true dream, instead of a regular nightmare – none of the regular players had been there. No three-headed wolf, no woman. ]

If they’re fixin’ us up for soldiers in their little war, guess that makes me front lines, huh? Nice and warm, so I can stay out in the snow longer. And you’re communication. [ And speaking of… ] Can you send pictures too? Or just words?

[amo]

[ Vash is blissfully oblivious of his wayward thought being perceived since Wolfwood so graciously doesn't point it out to him. Which means he can keep soaking up the warming attention without being embarrassed about it; a relaxed puddle of a feathery figure draped backwards over the chair. If they were somewhere cozy near a fire instead of a cold, abandoned room full of dust, he'd probably have no problem dozing off right then and there under Wolfwood's diligent hands like a contented cat. It's still a little tempting.

But their surroundings and current important topic keep him tethered and more alert than his heavy-lidded gaze might suggest, thoughts spinning as he takes in the information. The woman wasn't there? The aurora was though so there's definitely a connection there. Possibly the fire was just a different manifestation, the source still the same.

Even though it goes unseen, Wolfwood's hypothesis has him making a face at the wall. ]

We don't know if it's a war, exactly...

[ The woman had said it was to help them survive this place, give them something back when so much has been taken from them, and Vash wants to believe her. Maybe it's wishful thinking that this isn't going to be a similar situation to back home, but he can't help it. One fate-of-the-world deciding battle was enough for him, thanks.

At the question he perks up, considering it and finding himself uncertain whether or not he's shared more than just words. It's been a chaotic jumble trying to make sense of it all. He tries to glance over his shoulder, gaze met by his own wings blocking Wolfwood from view. ]

Huh, I'm not sure. Wanna try and see?

[lastdecember]

[ One fate-of-the-world deciding battle should be enough for anyone, but here they are. There’s a beast in the sky whose presence is enough to bring a man to his knees and kill a healthy soldier with fright, and a woman who only appears in their dreams who brings them, not food and medicines, but abilities, changes to make them tougher. They’re here to fight, whether Vash wants to hear it or not.

But he’ll come around, in time. Eventually, Wolfwood’s sure, there won’t be any way to deny it. Eventually they’ll be sent out to fight that dog-headed monstrosity and, privately, he doesn’t think they have a chance in hell. Not without significantly more changes.

His hands stutter across Vash’s wing, the moment’s fear making them tremble. He grits his teeth and continues with his work, rubbing away the last of the mud and ice, and working warmth back into the chilly alien limbs. Cowardice doesn’t help anybody, he mentally chides himself. Keep it together. ]

Yeah, show me somethin’.

[ Just one last wing, and then he can see about pinning them up. ]

Make it a good one.