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]

[ 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.

[amo]

[ Ever the optimist who wants to assume the best of people and also the avoidant coward that he is, Vash tries not to think of it too much or too negatively whenever he does. They will survive. They must. Vash simply cannot bear to think about losing his brothers and his friend (again). He might be doing nothing but the hopeful equivalent of sticking his head in the sand — or snow, as it were — but that's honestly par the course for Vash the Stampede.

Although Vash doesn't consciously notice Wolfwood's fearful lapse, there's a long, thin feather — already dried and fluffier for it — that surreptitiously reaches out to loosely wind its way around Wolfwood's arm seemingly in response. Meanwhile Vash is lost in thought. A good one, huh?

He's not sure how to even go about this, but he figures it might be similar to how he's communicated with his sisters before. That's always more than just a simple, single picture though. It's always interwoven with emotions and recollections. Sharing a memory might be a good starting point then and also an excellent test to see just how much he can share. But which memory? For all that they'd been talking about flying, that particular memory is far too fraught and likely to upset Wolfwood. (He'd been dying, would have if Knives hadn't stumbled across the good doctor he did.) Maybe the next best thing then.

Making up his mind, Vash straightens up in the chair, all his wings shifting with him and giving a little shudder as he goes from total relaxation to purposeful focus. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. ]

Okay, here goes.

[ He reaches for that faint sensation in his mind whenever he's aware he's sharing thoughts. Rather than words, he thinks of—

how small you are in the vastness of space. Your little body floats among the stars, winking all around you from beyond the glass of the windows that are the only things separating you from a certain frigid death. It should be frightening, but it's not. The anti-gravity chamber is your favorite place on the ship along with the garden. You come here to find peace and it never fails you. Drifting among the stars in a weightless embrace, you feel at ease. You can fly and spin and tumble to your heart's content without ever falling; there's no pain, only freedom.

You press your tiny hands to the glass, catching your reflection and the pinprick lights of faraway stars past it make it seem like your body is dotted with them. It makes you smile. Rem's told you all living things are made of stardust and like this, you truly feel like you're one with the universe. You don't have to be afraid of the cold expanse or how insignificant your existence seems in comparison, you're intrinsically a part of it. You push yourself back and let yourself float aimlessly, enjoying the weightless feeling while you still can before you're inevitably called back down by your brother or Rem.

The smile lingers on Vash's face well past the memory as he opens his eyes again, chest aching with the bittersweet nostalgia of the memory. It's a little piece of himself that he's just shared with Wolfwood, it only seems fair when Wolfwood has spilled some of his past before. If it worked, that is. ]

How was that?

[lastdecember]

[ Not sharing a memory where he was actively dying was a good choice.

Vash sits up, and Wolfwood releases his hold on the remaining – now dry – feathers, just in case the sharing of an image makes him jolt or tense up. That single friendly feather wrapped around his arm gets lifted away too – for all that Vash says that his feathers can’t do anything, they sure seem to like holding on to him! Maybe they can’t hold with any strength, but if they want to wrap around stuff, then could they be convinced to wrap around each other? Maybe he could…

And then the vision kicks in, and Wolfwood stops thinking about feathers, and starts dreaming of space.

It’s like watching a play – he’s seeing through Vash’s eyes, watching the walls and windows of the anti-gravity chamber spin past at a dizzying rate, but it doesn’t feel like it’s happening. There’s no rush from the movement, no sensation of cold when Vash lays his hands on the window. It’s all just pictures, devoid of anything else.

But the pictures are enough. The little face in the reflection is cute, and unmistakably Vash, but without Vash’s inner enjoyment, the vast expanse on the other side of that window is terrifying in its emptiness. Wolfwood’s never even seen pictures of space before – his only view of the stars has always been from the planet’s surface, where the atmosphere makes the lights twinkle. Here there’s no twinkle – the stars are bright, and cold, and impossibly distant, and it makes Wolfwood uncomfortable in a way he can’t quite name.

But soon enough little Vash pulls himself away from the window and goes back to drifting, and that makes Wolfwood uncomfortable in a way that he’s at least familiar with! He’s been trained out of nausea from being upside down, but the room spinning around still makes him grit his teeth and wish for a horizon point to focus on. Then the image fades, and he’s back in the dim, musty room, surrounded by white feathers. ]

I don’t know how you managed to not barf your guts out, spinnin’ around like that.

[amo]

[ Vash waits with nervous anticipation and unintentionally bated breath to see if his attempt worked or not. As determined as he'd been for many years to ignore his heritage and all powers it entailed until he was forced to finally learn and tap into them to face his brother, this is different. The sooner he gets a handle on this 'gift' and stops leaking thoughts like a faulty faucet, the better. Not just because it'll preserve his innermost privacy, but if he manages to get control then he'd essentially get what he's found himself wishing for occasionally, wouldn't he? There have been times he wished he could just share feelings or memories like his sisters do to make himself understood when words so often fail him and fall short.

Maybe he should have been more careful about what he wished for. But Wolfwood confirms he saw what Vash intended for him to see and the comment gets a soft, relieved laugh out of Vash. ]

Call it a little brother's determination.

[ To be better at something than his older smartypants of a brother, that is. Even if it's just enduring the weightlessness of zero gravity and being able to spin more times without getting sick. The sort of innocent competition he wished they could have held on to instead of the actual bitter enemies they became.

No longer so focused, Vash's shoulders relax and his wings droop down along with the release of tension with a tiny, rustling shiver. It makes it easier for Vash to actually see his friend when he glances over his shoulder curiously. Obviously, he managed to share the memory at least in a visual manner, but... ]

How did it feel?

[lastdecember]

[ With the picture show ended, Wolfwood returns to his task. The feathers are as clean ad dry as he’s going to be able to get them with this towel so he tosses it aside, and starts in on the next stage of the process. ]

Feel? [ He meets Vash’s eye over the other man’s shoulder, and shakes his head. ] I didn’t get any of the feelings of anything, just the images.

[ Starting with the biggest couple of wings, Wolfwood gently lays them up one over the other, forming the base of what he hopes will become a loose braid. ]

It was like I was seein’ through your eyes, but if it was hot or cold or whatever in there, I didn’t feel it. Sorry.

[ The smaller wings, and the large feathers that sprout out of Vash’s flesh on their own, can get tucked into the braid as he works. He doesn’t know it’s called a French braid, but that’s what he’s doing, working Vash’s wings up into a big plait along his spine. ]

Still, it was clear as me seein’ you now. It’d work just fine for sharing what you’re seein’ in a fight, I think. It’ll be useful.