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

[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.