it's cold and it's sort of merciless | closed

[brutalact]

Who: Knives & Vash & Vash(u)
What: Catchall log
When: Throughout the month of October up to November 5th.
Where: The Church mostly.

Content Warnings: Mentions of suicide ideation and past misanthropy most likely. Will update with warnings as they come up.



[if there was one positive thing knives could say about the church, it'd be the distance between it and the rest of the town. there were few interlopers who ventured out this far and most of the ones who did were either headed out of town or wandered the graveyard that sat behind the church itself. knives hadn't felt much of a need to interact with many of them unless stricken by curiosity-fed boredom, still learning how to carry himself around those whom he once upon a time would have cut down without a second thought.

times have changed and so has he. unfortunate or fortunate, it didn't matter now.

at least there is plenty to do to keep knives occupied; the few books he found on fishing and hunting, while outdated, are useful enough that he's gone out to try his hand at both. it was interesting learning about skills he would have never considered before back on no man's land, the frozen basin itself a marvel when he first came upon it.

inside the church the living quarters were small, especially with three people - plants - all taking up space together. what could go wrong?

Comments

( i told them get my good side, they told me not to move )

[skelters]

[ vash tries to keep himself busy, as much as he can. he is used to it by now - if his brain is focused on keeping his body moving, the less room it has to focus on other things; the discordant notes of piano keys, the sharp weightlessness of the fall, the smell of worm-tobacco, the sharp, hot scent of desert right before the first of the sunrises. some people might call it running away. he is running away again, the same as he's ever been, nothing changed at all. vash would call it learning, call it making himself useful, anything else but to keep himself from counting every footstep crunching in the snow as he treks the distance between the church and the rest of the town day after day. he isn't being stubborn. he isn't.

at least vash is getting used to the terrain now, and he's only slipped once (twice, if we are being strictly truthful) as he sloughs away the snow piled on whatever bit of road that connects them to the pathway to town. it seems that every other day it needs clearing out - but he doesn't mind the work. it gets him outside, bundled up against the cold with an assortment of clothing underneath the oversized red coat, a strip of dark fabric pulled over his nose and mouth to keep in the warmth. it's something that he can do alone, without company except for his own thoughts. it isn't exactly an ideal company, but he's used to that too.

the exercise fogs up his glasses halfway down the driveway - and vash sucks in a breath, straightening up with one last heave with the shovel before pushing the tinted lenses up past his forehead. ]

( hide our face 'cause people they can't handle that )

[amo]

[ Nights in which the Aurora appears seem to start lessening over time, the lights painting the sky in beautiful ribbons becoming more and more sporadic in appearance. It's a small mercy, all things considered. It means Vash feels more comfortable going out and about. He's out in the graveyard, tending to the graves — more than a fair few he's dug himself after he told himself he never wanted to dig another one, Wolfwood's was supposed to have been his last — when the next Aurora hits. He's become wise to the signs and sensations by now, knows to quickly shrug off his coat and sweater when the faint itching behind his right shoulder starts. He's no longer thrown into blind panic the second plumes starts sprouting nor does he bother with the futility of trying to fight the change anymore. There's only tired resignation now as everything that makes him inhuman tears itself free from the prison of his skin.

Once the change is done sweeping over him — pretty extensive this time with multiple wings although not as bad as it can be — he's immediately picking up his clothes and tucking them under his arm, abandoning his self-imposed duty as groundskeeper. There's no one out here and yet his footsteps are hurried as he walks back to the church, grateful to be so near the closest thing he's got to a home now. For once he's not worried about being seen. He's much more concerned with how the Aurora will affect his fellow Independents. It's their first time and there's no telling how it might affect his other self in particular when he's the only one among them whose power isn't utterly depleted. Will it even affect him or will the lack of decay make him strong enough to resist whatever the Aurora does to them? Will all of them have changed at the same time?

Vash is rushing back inside for the answers without running, announcing his return with the sound of rustling wings and a call of: ]

The Aurora's here.

[amo]

[ Vash knows when someone is running. He's been doing it for the majority of his long life so at this point it's an easy thing to recognize in others. In this case it's made even easier for the fact that it's himself he's dealing with; different as he and his double are in some aspects, a lot remains the same. Like looking at a reflection that's slightly distorted. He hasn't pried much (yet) as to the what or why, but he can make some educated guesses. Guesses he's been content to fill the gaps with mostly in fear of inviting questions that he doesn't want to answer in turn otherwise. They're cowards like that. Although even without his own past to fall back on, he'd still be able to recognize the running for what it is.

After all, his other self is doing exactly what he's been doing since the moment he arrived here himself: keeping busy, not allowing his hands to be idle as much as possible, always making sure to keep moving. Vash knows he can't outrun his grief — and it has caught up to him again and again, filling his mouth with the taste of saltwater and tobacco — but that doesn't stop him from trying. It's a little easier now that he has company at the church, giving him a reason to stick around and to build some semblance of a routine through making sure there are three meals a day for everyone. To have a brother returned to him and a new one essentially gained, some of his grief and that aching void of loneliness that he's carried for so long is tentatively being soothed, too. Even if things here are so very hard.

The least Vash can do is return the favor, he figures.

It's with a full thermos bottle in hand and two mugs hooked onto his fingers that he steps outside and meanders down the freshly cleared path, making sure his footsteps are still audible as he draws closer to prevent any startling. ]

You've been working so hard. How about a little break?

[ He pipes up with cheer once he gets within earshot, holding up the mugs and thermos meaningfully. ]

[skelters]

[ in a way, it is both a curse and a blessing - that they cannot stop moving, cannot stop running away, hoping that maybe tomorrow is better than yesterday. it is like trying to escape the rush of floodwater lapping at your ankles, cold and damp and more than a little disheartening at times but you still keep reaching for a handhold anyway, always on the lookout for the next bit of solid ground. it would be much easier to stop. it would be much easier to let go of the stubborn obstinacy that keeps him going, yet every single time vash picks himself back up anyway. maybe he isn't being so stubborn, after all. maybe there is a reason why his brother is the first person he thinks of, when someone asks about fear. maybe it isn't even his brother.

vash doesn't start when the other draws closer, footsteps crunching in the compacted snow - but still it comes close anyway, if the odd, birdlike jerk of his shoulders is any giveaway. ]

It's really not much ... [ just, a few people do brave the snow and the cold to make a visit here, it would be better if they at least had a clear path to walk down in.

he fumbles with the shovel, digging the point of it into the pile of snow on the side before pulling off the thick gloves as vash approaches. ]

You didn't have to! I'm nearly done with this, anyway!

[amo]

[ It's not a full startle and yet with that little jerk of his double's shoulders, Vash can't help but feel like he's failed at his attempt not to spook him. It's something he hasn't stopped wondering about — the differences in their demeanor, how skittish and more demure the other seems — but that's yet another thing he's avoided asking about. He reminds Vash of his childhood self when he was still traveling with Knives, terrified of what (else) his twin might do and unable to leave his side because of it. He'd been withdrawn in a similar way for many of those years in which they aimlessly wandered the desert, so full of fear and grief in equal measure, until Knives broke away.

You don't have to be afraid, he would like to tell his other self, but that wouldn't be true. Even removed from No Man's Land and his own version of his brother, there is still plenty to be afraid of in this place.

Instead Vash offers what little he can. In this case a hot drink and some company; a distraction from the distraction. ]

I wanted to! Besides, it's an excuse to make the rare treat I found the other day.

[ If he'd still been living on his own, he would have left it for others to find or brought it to the community hall, but now having others around who could definitely use the occasional pick-me-up, he'd felt compelled to bring it back with him.

He's gently pressing the mug into his doppelganger's hands the moment they're free so he can fill it up before any potential protests can follow. What he pours into the mug is something that's a rich brown and sweet-smelling. Hot chocolate. An unexpected find during his scavenging of the abandoned houses for more supplies when most homes are already picked clean. ]

Something sweet for someone sweet.

[ Is he flirting or simply teasing? Hard to say when his affable smile doesn't change one bit. ]

[brutalact]

[vash had warned him of this happening right on the heels of his arrival and ever since knives has waited for forces unknown to him to act. the aurora was a phenomena he only knew of through what he'd been told and even that information was lacking in experiences to describe exactly what it was and its effects on the unwilling population of milton.

he just hadn't expected for it to finally kick into effect when he was sitting in the bathtub.

there was one nice thing about having such an abundance of snow and that was being able to bathe freely without the niggling worry about what it cost to have such a luxury. no need to worry about which of their sisters was the one to generate the water that filled their pipes and parched their thirst. one, small, nice thing.

just as they begin to erupt along his skin, sharp feathers softened by bath water, knives watches as the changes unfurl before his eyes. there's a spike of panic at the lack of control over what was happening to him, heart squeezing painfully inside his chest as skin cracks along the formations that petal and droop under the weight of water. knives' fingers curl around the edge of the tub tightly, steadying as he stands up out of the water. droplets hit the old wooden floors as he steps out of the bath while more feathers begin to form, even a wing that he can feel unfurling over his shoulder blade. he swallows the panic down; vash had warned him of this. he would be fine.

caught up in his own thoughts, staring down at his feathered arm as he drips naked just outside the tub, he hears vash return. on impulse, knives heads towards his brother's presence and catches that little commentary. his mind is racing as he takes in the sight of vash like this, that familiar panic rising like bile and coating his tongue with a bitterness that has him swallowing.]

No shit, Vash.

[brutalact]

[coming down that mostly-shoveled road now was knives, dressed in far warmer clothes than their first meeting, a canvas bag slung over one shoulder and in his other hand three fish of varying sizes dangling together by fishing wire. their scales glimmering iridescent under the fickle sunlight, dead eyes watching as knives comes upon vash with an unreadable expression.

he knows vash would work himself to the bone and beyond if he simply continued walking into the church. unfortunate traits shared amongst idiots who put others above themselves regardless of the consequences. it drove knives up a few fucking walls and more than a few times now he'd spat with his twin over what constituted as being too helpful.

instead of walking past vash, knives stops and slides the canvas bag, filled with the ice fishing gear he'd collected from around the town, off his shoulder before shoving it into vash's chest.]

Come with me.

[under the guise of helping him skin the fish, inside the warmth of the church. the roads would be covered in snow again by nightfall anyway. he's already turning away to head inside, better follow after him quickly!]

[skelters]

[ it starts as a tingle — a pins-and-needles feeling prickling along his skin, kind of like when he stretches out his hand to the flame to let it thaw in the warmth.

one way or another, a part of him always feels frozen in this place — so it can't be helped that vash doesn't immediately catch onto it until the two of them are almost nearly on him. he hears the hurried footsteps first, the noisy crunching of snow underfoot. he hears the call, and the faint sloshing of water in the direction of the bathroom. it takes vash a second of frozen uncertainty, his left hand clutching the ladle tightly like a lifeline, in the middle of him checking on the stew — knives had found him just before he'd wandered off to draw himself a bath, shoving vash in front of the fire and telling him to keep stirring it — before he springs to action like a frightened deer in headlights. he stumbles over to the bucket of water standing in the side to peer into the depths of it, seeing the tell-tale bluegreen glow even with the muddled, rippling surface of the water.

thankfully, he is in the kitchen (or what counts as a kitchen in this place). even then only a doorway separates him from the others, and vash knows that it is only a matter of time before one or the other would come stalking into the space to find him.

quickly, vash drops the ladle with a clatter of noise (stupid, he should have been more quiet) and grabs for his coat hanging off the back of a chair, swinging it over himself and pulling the hood up. the markings run over the back of his ears and down to his nape as well, and even if they are blurred and distorted over the scar tissues they are still bright enough in the failing light that it would be an obvious tell. just as an added precaution, he also pulls up the dark scarf wound around his neck over his nose and mouth. it's honestly more of an instinct than with any conscious decision that he does this — a kneejerk reaction, some kind of natural response kicking in that makes him fight or flight — or in this case, flight or flight.

now, is there any way for him to climb out the window before either of them realise that he is still in the church? ]

[skelters]

[ when vash notices him appearing from around the bend in the road, knives would see that - as somehow fucking always - he wavers slightly, uncertain of his footing, for a fraction of a second before the smile switches on and he waves a hand at the other. it seems like as much as vash tries he can't really seem to break the habit; fumbling before speaking to him, darting out of his line of vision as soon as knives look at him, always looking back at knives (always when he isn't looking) with something that isn't quite curiosity and isn't quite fear and isn't quite pity but rather some awful mix of all three. some other times he doesn't look at him at all, pointing his eyes in the other's direction but it only just seems like he is doing it out of some misguided sense of politeness. it's not really quite sure which is worse.

vash makes an utterly stupid, startled sound as knives unceremoniously shoves the bag into his chest - stumbling back a few steps even though that shouldn't be that heavy at all (and it really isn't, he should really learn how to act better). ] Um, but I'm already-

[ too late. knives is already heading inside without waiting for vash to answer. left holding the ticking bomb, as always.

vash looks at his retreating figure as knives disappears through the doorway, then back again, at the snow, at the falling flakes from the sky already on the way to obscuring the other's footsteps here, at the shovel tipping over unsteady from where he's dug it in too shallow in the mound of piled up frost.

and with an inaudible sigh, vash is going to sling the bag over his shoulder, picking up the shovel with the other hand and following the other. he takes an inordinately long amount of time kicking the snow off himself, his boots, his coat, brushing it off the shovel as well and going so far as leaning it carefully next to the entrance. he's clearly stalling. ]

[amo]

[ His brother comes out to greet him (kind of) and for a split-second, Vash just freezes. Seeing him both nude and feathery seems to set his alarm bells ringing extra loud. The last time he'd seen Knives fully bared had been a very bad time for Vash and his twin's changed form had never meant anything good either. But between the distress he can recognize on his brother's face — pushed down as it is — and him being a sopping wet mess, he looks disarming enough that the fear doesn't come to a head. It passes him by instead, a brief flit of anxiety. It's fine. They're fine. If anything, the sight is kind of comical and that thought is enough to get him to breathe out again in a quiet 'pfft' as he suppresses a laugh.

He forces his feet to come unstuck and move him closer to his brother, ignoring the too fast pounding of his heart and focusing on his amusement and the immediate predicament. ]

You should-

[ get dry, he wants to say. He's been caught off guard by the changes while out in the snow before and staying warm becomes even more of a struggle with waterlogged-feathers. Plus he's dripping all over their floors and that won't do. Except Vash doesn't get to finish his sentence because there's a clatter coming from the kitchenette in the other room. It's a potent reminder of the third plant that resides here and one that very much warrants the spike of panic that follows. After all, his other self is the only one among them who still has a well of power to tap into and who could pose a genuine danger.

He spares his brother an urgent, wide-eyed look that betrays all his fears and then he's off without further ado, hurrying towards the sound. He doesn't come crashing into the doorway like a maniac on the run, but it's a close thing. What he catches sight of is... the back of someone thoroughly bundled up? ]

Vash?

[ It still feels weird to call out his own name, but he doesn't even think twice about it this time. ]

[brutalact]

[vash is stalling and knives can sense it, a honed instinct to detect his brother's bullshit. while vash hangs by the doorway, knives whistles from inside, pitched harsh with all of his waning patience for vash's lollygagging tendencies.]

Get inside and close the door already.

[he's busy at the kitchenette sink, metal bucket at his feet currently holding the caught game he brought inside with him. as per his twin's request (as if knives had any room to object), he's been trying to be gentler with vash. the motions are unsteady, leaning all over again where the middle gears are in his tone and actions after a lifetime of moving at top speed. the differences between his brothers (something else he was adjusting to, not because he disliked the idea, but because until now he's only ever had sisters in the plural. kin was kin, in the end.) rivaled their similarities, but knives' keen eye couldn't miss the way vash, in all his blonde hair and affable smiles, jumped and twitched in his presence. flight before fight and knives knew he certainly wasn't doing a very good job at easing the younger plant's skittish tendencies.

whenever vash does manage to drag his ass inside and close the door, knives will speak up again as he stands at the sink rinsing the skinning blades under a thin stream of faucet water. the cold temperature of it turning the tips of his fingers pink.]

We'll start with the fish first.

[brutalact]

[vash's amusement at his current state is unappreciated and if the rumble of panic itching under his skin wasn't already enough to occupy his thoughts, knives would have more than a sour look on his face to shoot back at vash. he scratches at his arm, picking at some of the feathers with that nervous energy.

there's little space for conversation when they both turn at the sound of movement in the kitchenette, vash moving in response first and knives following right after. his brother's train of thought is one also moving through his own mind; how would the aurora affect their newest addition? and how far did their differences run?]

Speak up, brat.

[he comes in after vash and sees the back of that familiar red coat, his face pinching into a frown.] Hey.

[in the next moment, knives moves past vash, leaving damp footprints on the hardwood floor as he closes the distance to grab a fistful of that coat and pulling vash back from the window before he can open it properly.]

[skelters]

[ he is kind of busy here you know, trying to make his speedy and sneaky getaway!!!! he doesn't have time to answer you!

vash yelps as he is grabbed by the back of his coat and bodily pulled away from the window (that he's unlatched and pushed open halfway, by the way, he was so close). he immediately curls himself up into a ball, looking kind of like a sad, cabbage-shaped lump on the floor, his arms coming up around his head pathetically. ]

What do you want??

[ admittedly, his first thought was to panic - knowing their condition now versus his own, knowing that maybe there is some kind of reason or rhyme in the way that knives and vash had looked at him that first time they met - knowing and not knowing the jittery, unbalanced feeling spreading in his gut; that feeling of being unmoored and untethered and trapped in something much bigger than himself, bigger than the both of them, bigger than this whole planet or galaxy or even beyond. the markings burn, faint flickers of them all along his hand, his arm, his nape, all along through his veins on and off, on and off like fireflies stuttering in late summer - like the worms that would suck the marrow of his bones dry. ]

[amo]

[ The window and its half-opened state registers a moment later, realization dawning promptly, and by then Knives is already moving past him before Vash can react. It's a jumble of motion as Knives pulls the other him away from the window who then... proceeds to drop to the floor and curl up tight. It makes for a rather pitiful sight and Vash sympathizes. From where he stands, there are no feathers on the other that he can see, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. He's had times where the wings and feathers he sprouted were minimal and easily hidden beneath clothing. What is a good sign is that there isn't the crackling of immense energy in the air, building up like a storm. That bodes well at least.

To make sure it stays that way, Vash is quick to intervene and catch up to Knives after dropping the clothes tucked under his arm, taking hold of his elbow and pulling him back and away a little. Whatever history might be between this Vash and his Knives — by now he's certain it must be different in some significant way — he's taking the precaution of keeping the factor that set himself off the most at bay, just to be sure. Knives' heavy-handed approach is not the best here either way. He'd shoo his brother off entirely to go dry himself, but if things do go awry, he might be needed so he only works to get Knives behind him before dropping down into a crouch.

As tempted as he is to reach out and put a reassuring hand on his double's back, he refrains, mindful to treat him like the nuclear bomb he has the potential to be. That's the intention anyway. His newly gained appendages didn't get the memo and there isn't any stopping the way his wings reach forward. Swatting at the biggest wing does nothing to deter it from its path of curling over and around the sad lump on the floor.

Whatever. Hopefully it helps rather than incites. There's a glow that keeps sparking in his other self's hand that worries him even though it doesn't feel like it's charging up. He ignores the pounding in his chest, keeping his voice calm and even. ]

Hey, it's alright. It's just us. You don't have to hide.

[skelters]

[ would motion sickness feel a little bit like this? his body moving separately to everything else around him, restlessness inside stillness. vash can feel the steady press of the floor under his cheek and forehead; motionless and static, even though he feels anything but with the nauseous feeling churning uncomfortably in his stomach. he can feel something warm and soft, almost barely any weight at all, brushing over the bend of his spine. he feels like he's about to be sick through the panic burning through his guts. vash tries to keep his breaths even, counting one, two - one, then two again. this is the floor. this is his hand. this is his body. this is vash's voice, calm and even and steady. this is still him. he is still himself.

the unsteady feeling is still there, except it doesn't get any worse - it sits somewhere under his sternum, like a lump against his heart, like a bullet lodged somewhere between his ribs. uncomfortable, but he will live. ]

Ahaha.... [ the laugh isn't quite a laugh, ringing hollow and shaky, but it is better than nothing. anything is better than this, as vash carefully, slowly raises his hand above his head and gives a (hopefully) reassuring wave, still keeping his whole body in a crouch as embarrassment begins to creep in the wake of the panic. ]

Sorry, sorry .... Just, [ a sharp exhale ] Wow.

[skelters]

[ it's an odd feeling, like standing in front of a distorted mirror and seeing his features through an entirely different viewpoint. vash hasn't quite learned to grow used to it yet, somehow - and every time he catches glimpse of the dark hair swinging in front of the other's too familiar eyes, he has to catch himself from automatically looking away, trying to ignore the awful, sinking feeling in his stomach. it's okay, he'd said. it's fine. they are here. nothing else is going to happen. surely, nothing bad will happen?

he still has too many questions to ask - but vash is just a coward who flees from such things as what he must do in favour of running and hiding. his other self hasn't asked anything of him in favour of this peripheral, quiet almost-acceptance, after all ... the least he could do is stay out of the other's business in turn, no matter how much the questions burn through his tongue.

so instead, vash takes the mug in his hands. takes a sip of the hot liquid before it could register, lets it almost burn his tongue instead of the words backed up in his throat. this is a better alternative.

... not that it lasts for very long before he is spluttering (luckily, swallowing back the hot chocolate in time), his cheeks flushing from more than just cold. ]

W- What??

[skelters]

[ the piercing note of the whistle makes him jump, and vash has to scramble to catch the handle of the shovel before it tips and goes clanging all over the ground - shutting the door with a bang that sounds too loud in the space, making him wince and cringe all over again as though the echo is a physical blow. ]

Um- Okay!

[ the boots and the layers left hanging by the door to dry, vash shuffles over silently on socked feet to stand by knives' side - close enough to peer into the bucket to see the catch he's made for the day, but not close enough so that it actually might just have a reverse effect than what it intended - which is to say, to not annoy the other more than he strictly has to. but vash's plans, however well meant, always seemed to have a way of going sideways, no? ]

... You'll have to show me how, again. [ vash smiles - all the wrong angles in its rightness, straining to hold itself up. ] ... Sorry.

[brutalact]

[out of the three, knives was the only one who could greet the alien sensations that coursed through their bodies without the fear and panic that saturated his brothers. he had long ago embraced their otherness, instinctually familiar and welcoming as he let the feelings wash over him like a loving embrace. it was this that tied them to their heritage, their sisters that came before them in generations cut short over and over. he could understand the hesitation to present before those that would do harm in the face of something different, but surrounded by family...

across every universe it seemed his brother would always be the odd one out.

knives releases the back of vash's coat, briefly meeting his brother's eyes with a tch clicking behind his teeth before moving to close the half-opened window with a heavy hand. the chill already turning his naked skin to goosepimple, his feathers fluttering as he shivers.]

This reaction is bordering on insulting. Do you really think that lowly of us?

[brutalact]

Mhm.

[unsurprised, or at least judging by his lacking reaction to vash's apologetic response, knives doesn't seem as outwardly annoyed by vash's ditzy manners. they're still dancing around each other, or rather, vash is. when knives looks at the younger plant (younger in the way his hair still shined under the sunlight, all gold and dirty blonde) he can see the secrets inlaid in his every action, both small and large. it isn't his business to ask, having lost any such privilege a long time ago. it hadn't stopped him back then and the dark hair now donning his brother's head was one of the many prices he paid for arrogance.]

Pick one. [vash is closer to the bucket and thus, his duty to pluck a fish to start with. knives looks up from the blade, now clean, to peer at vash with a tilt of his head.]

Have you used a blade before?

[amo]

It's okay. You're okay.

[ He's quick to reassure, relieved at both the lack of anything disastrous happening and the window being shut; his own bare upper half thankful for the closing of it. Vash cares little for his brother's disapproval in this situation. Knives would never understand, he simply couldn't. But Vash does. Content as he is to ignore the (mostly) silent disapproval and keep his focus on his other self, he can't help but leap to his double's defense at the accusation when it's voiced aloud. He gets where Knives is coming from, but more so than that, he understands the other Vash's position even better. He's pretty sure that's not what this is about. Not entirely anyway, although most of it might just be a mindless panic response. ]

Knives, that's not—

[ it. He means to say, but he gets distracted by one of his larger feathers seeming intend on reaching for the raised hand like it might curl around it. So far the proximity and any incidental brushing hasn't set anything off and Vash would very much like to keep it that way. He has no idea if, without any juice in the tank (so to speak), his feathers can still hold and transfer memories. He's not keen on finding out the hard way. The last thing his other self needs right now is a peek at... well, anything of his past, really. When glowering at the feather and willing very, very hard for it to stop doesn't work (as usual), he's forced to lean forward and put one hand on Vash's back to balance himself as his other snatches the feather right before it can make contact... upon which his wing immediately jerks upward and out of his grasp. Knives might want to lean back real fast or risk getting whacked in the face by it.

It also means he overbalances somewhat, unintentionally putting more weight on the crouched figure. ]

Ack, sorry!

[ Throwing that blanket apology out there straight away. What a fine, clumsy mess they make. ]

[skelters]

[ vash keeps watching him - not directly, but out of the corner of his eyes as though he is expecting knives to make sudden movements - but also, not in a way that he is scared, more in a way that one would smother an unruly cat in blankets. it is half and half, really, the way he shifts his weight as he steps closer to the bucket as though vash is ready to run away or leap closer both at the same time. ]

I have cooked before.

[ a little petulant, a little huff dusting the tattered edge of his words, and the smile wavers with the way vash frowns momentarily - before coming back around again with an automatic, thoughtless snap like a magnet sticking itself back onto the surface of his face.

he might have cooked before, who knows? he might not be as bad as it, though that is up for a debate.

fish, however, is a new thing altogether - and vash can't help making a face as he reaches into the bucket and picks one up, fumbling with the slimy texture of it before taking it up by the tail. ]

[amo]

[ Their little dance of avoidance continues, the steps well-rehearsed. There will come a day where the both of them will have to stop running, be it because curiosity finally wins out or because outside influences force their hand; like how he'd been forced to confess the one true secret he had left between him and his brother. He hopes nothing like that ever happens again, but this place has a way of imposing its whims on the temporally displaced residents. They will have no say in it. Still, it's knowledge he would rather not burden this other version of himself with. Of course, if asked directly, he has already resolved to be truthful since there's no point in trying to lie, but he knows himself. They'll dance on a while longer.

His pleasant expression remains fixed, waiting for the moment that his words fully register and he's not disappointed when they do. He can't hide the mirth — there in a growing toothy grin and how his eyes turn to crescents — as his other self splutters and goes delightfully red. He chuckles and at least gives his double a slight break as he averts his gaze to pour himself a mug as well.

Only a slight break though. ]

You're too easy!

[ He observes out loud, eyes still sparkling with amusement when he lifts his gaze from his mug again. Was he this easy to fluster when he was younger? He can't remember, but it's a current difference he takes note of. There's a certain priest he can think of — that he does, unbidden, even if it hurts — who would have a field day with this Vash. (Something that he wonders about too, does his double have his own Wolfwood? Another thing he absolutely can't bring himself to ask when he can't even say his lost friend's name.) He'd probably agree... ]

It's cute.

[brutalact]

What a wonderful surprise. Does that mean you won't need my help, then?

[snark for snark, but the teeth behind it are dulled. knives watches as vash struggles with the fish, silent and expectant for vash to figure out some way to pick it up. never mind he had struggled briefly too the first time he handled a fish, but that information wasn't necessary for vash to know. he taps the blade on the hardwood cutting board, a silent set it here.]

I know you aren't squeamish.

[fish laid out, knives angles himself so that vash could watch how he works the tip of the blade right behind the gills and fin, cutting down until he hits the backbone. at first he works quietly, expecting vash to watch as he glides the blade, following the line down the spine until metal meets bone. it had taken knives a few tries in learning how to fillet a fish, his first attempt he had broken the ribcage and left bone splinters in the soft meat. it was a challenge to go by only written direction from a book that predated him by a few centuries at least, but knives wasn't known for simply giving up on the first attempt.

the first half of the fish comes away easily after he makes his cuts, pinbones broken as he separates the flesh from the rib cage. the sensation of metal moving through flesh is one knives is quite familiar with, a way to scratch the itch of a habit he cultivated over a century and a half of unchecked behavior. he sets the first half of the filet flesh side up on the side before turning the blade to hold the handle out to vash.]

Your turn.

[the fish is turned over, uncut side and glossy eye staring up at vash as they both wait for him to start. knives is a close presence by his side, shoulders brushing with vash's as they share the same heat.]

[skelters]

[ even with vash's carefully pitched words of consolation, it's hard to ignore their brother; it would be almost impossible really, the sharpened edge of the words hitting home and making vash shrink all the more, recoiling inwardly in on himself like a snail. or a tortoise. stubborn and stupid and too dumb to see it in any other way but his own.

it's okay, he's about to tell the other, hearing the whistle of the air as he raises his voice to shush knives and cut him off before he could say anything more. it's okay. he is right. he should know better than this. should have known better. should have prepared better, expected something of this sort, after what he's heard from vash. but he wouldn't have expected this in any shape or form. the only word he can use to describe it is ... peculiar. alien. like coming home and finding a stranger in your house. someone who wears your face and has taken root among your belongings as though it is theirs now. the anxiety sits heavy in the pitch of his stomach but vash tries to force it out through deep breaths, feeling the rough and smooth patches of the floor against his cheek, the heavy weight of it against the bend of his knees.

before he could catch his breath to actually voice any of these, however, vash ends up letting out a surprised, choked squawk instead as the other ends up overturning over him all in a topple. ]

Hrk- ugh- Are, Are you okay??

[ half raising himself up by his arms, only narrowly avoiding buckling under the weight of both of them (and then some, considering the ... extra appendages), vash hastily turns half towards the other, reaching out with a hand to steady him from falling backwards on his ass. how much more uncoordinated can they get?

this also means that the hood falls away from his face, but who is paying attention here to any of that? ]

an apple a day | 11/26

[brutalact]

[four days into whatever sickness plagued vash, the fever burning his cheeks comes to a boiling point. knives feels that familiar itch of insanity, scraping at the edges of his thoughts as he splits himself between tasks and with vash in the center of everything. just like he's always been and knives will go to his grave with vash as his sun.

they have some food saved up, saving him trips outside and time spent away from vash. his brother was vulnerable and so fucking mortal it makes knives want to scream until his throat bled. the helplessness grips him with a locked jaw. there is some relief by being by his brother's side, wiping at his brow with a wrung hand towel soaked in cold water. bone broth and pine needle tea kept on tap, so to speak- it was what that doctor had recommended... his pride set aside just for this.

v had left earlier after knives reminded him to come back as he stood by the fire boiling water. he didn't need to choose between the two if something were to happen to v. it would piss him off, for one.

the sun had just finished setting as knives seats himself on the edge of the bed, carefully nudging vash awake. a cup of tea and a bowl of venison bone broth (a use for every bit of animal) steaming on the bedside table. knives pats at vash's cheek, feeling the heat burn his palm.]

Vash.