2017-08-03: A Real Person
- Log: A Real Person
- Cast: Gwen Whitlock, Vash the Stampede
- Where: Silver Coast
- Date: 8/3/2017
- Summary: Exhausted and shaken from her first visit with the mysterious Isiris, Gwen finds her way back to her camp, where she stumbles across the harmless Mr. Balderdash.
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
'You should be proud of your pain. It's going to be the only thing you have, soon.'
It was approaching sunset when Gwen had left her camp to go looking for spare wood. The brush and fallen debris immediately around the campfire, as well as the sparse and thinning trees themselves, refused to yield all that much for the courier to build a proper fire. A rare summer storm earlier in the afternoon had left the ground drenched, besides, and even if the thirsty ground was soaking up evey drop of moisture that had managed to fall to it, the wood Gwen was finding was still too moist to produce much more than smoke.
Which is why, when Gulliver found his feeding tray was empty, he looked up, snorted, and simply tried to nibble on some lone strands of grass. It'd make sense that she was gone.
In fact, Gulliver wasn't worried at all, because he was a horse.
By the time Gwen did get back, panting and clutching some pieces of wood under one arm, the sky is thoroughly dark. Looking at her meager, still moist offering, and the angle of the moons in the sky, she simply let the wood fall to the ground, leaning into the welcoming warm weight of Gulliver's side, her words muffled by him tucking his long head over one shoulder.
"... yes, yes, I know, I knooow... Sorry. Got lost."
And attacked by thieving animals, it seems- gone is the handkerchief around her neck, one earring, the buttons of one glove and the top buttons of her blouse, and the entirety of one boot- which probably is the reason for her ruffled hair and nicked cheek.
Judging by Gulliver's searching with his nose and mouth, it seems he's eager to see if any food was left behind. "I know you're still hungry. I'm hungry too! But we gotta get movin'. There's-"
'He's going to come for you, you know.'
"Somethin' out there." She's already too weary to even really stand, just laying across Gulliver's back. "But I'm gonna just.... shut my eyes here for a sec, okay? Jus... hold still...."
The sound of nearby thunder brings Gwen to a startled wakefulness with a frightened shriek, as she now clings to the confused Gulliver's neck.
<Pose Tracker> Vash the Stampede has posed.
Lightning cracks. Thunder rolls. It is a very unpleasant day, even if the rain is a godsend to parched dirt and shriveling roots already slowly dying in an indifferent and crumbling world. For the natural world, today is a blessing, as simple as that.
For Gwen Whitlock, drifting between the waking world and the cold comfort of unconsciousness, the storm on the horizon is probably anything but that. Perhaps there's some comfort to be taken in the fact that she's at least alone. Maybe. Or...
Thunder peels across the heavens above in a loud whipcrack of a bang. And just as Gwen lets loose that frightened shriek--
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!"
--another one joins the chorus of confusion until they're matched in perfect harmony.
It's a man's scream. Probably. A little too high pitched, but sounding too off to be a woman's, either. It lasts exactly as long as Gwen's does and not a second further, such that she might miss it in all her frightened confusion. Or maybe she'll miss the sound of crackling that becomes more apparent as the rumble of thunder dies away. Or maybe she'll miss the faint flickering of light that wasn't there when her eyes shut not moments earlier. Or maybe she'll miss--
--the sight of a very tall, young(-looking) man in a red coat, launched onto his feet in a defensive position.
Brandishing a marshmallow impaled on a twig at her.
Threateningly.
"AWAY, BANDIT, I HAVE A MARSHMALLOW AND I'M NOT AFRAID TO USE IT--huh?"
A moment of silence passes where Vash the Stampede, currently standing on one leg (for... some... reason) and waving around that twig, just comes to an awkward pause, staring blankly at Gwen. It lasts roughly somewhere between five to ten seconds before his jaw opens ever-so-slightly.
"... What the heck're you doing here?! I thought I was gonna have a heart attack!"
He doesn't bring up her state, apparently too panicked to. And for all the world it'd seem that he stumbled across her by pure, serendipitous accident. If not for the fact that there's a campfire now crackling at the center of Gwen's camp -- if not for the fact that someone had set everything up for her in her lapses between consciousness and not.
"Stop stealing my favorite camping spots!!"
Clearly, though, that must be the reason why.
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
Gulliver, for the most part, puts up with being Gwen's sudden safety blanket for the most part, his bally horse eyes just rolling around at the *two* sounds of screaming.
Oh right. Red Person is there. He forgot. Red Person has Food, but First Person is sleeping on Gulliver, and he cannot move, because that would be Wrong.
Gwen, on the other hand, slowly opens her previously squinted shut eyes, her ears beginning to pick up on the subtle but distinct noise of a crackling fire. Watery eyes take in two sources of warm colors: the yellows and red-oranges of the fire, and just beside it, a yelling, blurry, red-coated man.
Oh, it's just Vash. The yelling about bandits seems to confirm it.
Gwen just vacantly looks at the one-legged Vash, his twig-impaled marshmallow, and the camp fire now blazing with life where before, there was none. The nice, warm, inviting campfire.
Separating from Gulliver, Gwen trudges over the distance to simply plop into a cross-legged position in front of the bonfire, mouth open in an exhale of unabashed relief, shoulders relaxed forward. She doesn't even care that her neck feels naked without the handkerchief around it. She doesn't even feel self-conscious about any patch of her scar showing, or even worse, some iota of cleavage showing from the ruined blouse.
She just doesn't care, because the fire is warm, and there's someone she trusts here.
Someone she trusts enough to just rudely walk on in and just slouch in front of his fire without a word of greeting or inquiry, the rudest friend ever
Gulliver, meanwhile, moseys behind Gwen and, once she settles by the fire, continues his journey over to Vash, extending his nose to idly sniff at the piece of marshmallow fluff dangling from the end of that stick.
Gwen just closes her eyes, enjoying the warmth. "... I got here first." After several seconds, her stomach growls, apparently having unearthed itself from whatever corner it was scared away into. ".... Um." Her blue-grey eyes slowly open, her head turning to look up at Vash. "... Y'got any spare marshmallows?"
There's a second question there, hidden in Gwen's gaze.
'Will you stay here?'
<Pose Tracker> Vash the Stampede has posed.
Marshmallow is waved about. Confusion -- no, indignation! -- is writ large over Vash's comically puffed up cheeks and enflamed, bulging stare.
... Honestly, he looks more absurd than threatening in any sense of the word, which probably just makes the way he looks utterly baffled before sagging in absolute defeat the perfect punctuation to it all.
"Aw c'mon don't I even get a hello--?! My life is such a tragedyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy~~"
Is that -- is he ---
Yes, he's crying. Superfluous amounts of tears.
So dismayed is he that he just abandons his twig of marshmallow to its fate, forlornly shoving it at (offering it to?) Gulliver before he meanders his way towards the campfire, head bowed, feet sadly shuffling.
One can only imagine the pathetic leitmotif that could fit such an unfortunate scene.
Which makes it all the more jarring how quickly he recovers -- or at least, it might, to anyone who wasn't used to him by now. "And I got here second! So nyaah!" he proclaims childishly; he is, in fact, in the middle of a most wicked raspberry when Gwen continues on with the slow crack of stormy eyes. He blinks, expression fading towards surprised neutrality, big blue eyes staring at Gwen for a long moment before he rubs the back of his head and looks aside. "Uhh... I mean, I -guess- I have some spares, somewhere, besides my precious one I would never ever give to anyone--" he begins, tentatively, before looking down... and noticing his hand is empty.
And that he already offered his precious marshmallow to Gulliver.
Who's probably consumed it whole by now.
"OH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"
It takes about ten seconds for him to get over his panicked horror before the red coated man is settling into the ground across, but not too terribly far away from, Gwen. Marshmallows have been split between them -- there's even chocolates from Port Timney, and what look like some form of graham cracker. For what arcane purpose could those exist--!?
For right now, Vash seems content to simply roast his new marshmallow (whispering sweet nothings of 'don't worry i won't let a horse kill you and eat you that's my job' to it as he does) in relatively comfortable silence. Comfortable, easy. With a certain sense of implicit trust in the way that he seems to simply enjoy that tranquility before venturing, calmly, good-naturedly even,
"So... you're goin' for the one-shoe look, huh? I tried that for a while, but then I stepped on a cactus, and let me tell you, I was done with that fad!"
How could he have stepped on a cactus--?! It's a mystery that, at the very least, doesn't seem to douse the subtle edge of concern in his otherwise joking tone of voice.
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
Such a terrible friend, for Gwen to simply take in the fire's warmth without an ounce of care towards her wailing benefactor.
That, or a trusting friend. Just openly letting herself relax, with no care taken to cover any hint of metal or skin, with a relief that never showed when they first met, even as friendly as she was towards him then.
... no, she's still terrible, even letting her horse eat that poor defenseless marshmellow, it had no chance
Gwen takes the proffered sugary goods with a smile of gratitude, slipping a marshmallow on her own stick to prop over the fire while her other hand grasps some graham crackers and chows down into them, eating quietly and blissfully in the blessed silence.
"-Wait, you what?" Gwen finally looks up, pressing a hand to one knee and leaning over to look at whichever of Vash's feet is closest to her. .... As if some evidence of those spines would still be there. "Those're painful, y'know?!"
Then, a slow smile, and a grateful chuckle, a spot of mirth finally showing up in Gwen's eyes. Stuffing another small bar of semi-melted chocolate into her mouth, she begins to answer. "Well-"
Gulliver, now thoroughly finished with his marshmallow, comes over to greet Red Friend with a friendly snort, ignorant of any complaints Vash may have with him. ... and probably wanting to snag another marshmallow, though he's not too insistent.
'If you're not real enough... if you're not a person, he will just eat you up.'
"..." Gwen's left hand loosens, the graham cracker held within it tipping to one side of her fingers. "I think I messed up. I've always wondered if someone'd get curious or somethin', and come after me. I think someone just did. I think? Maybe I just saw things...?" She worriedly chews on the graham cracker, looking towards the fire. "I've never seen this person before. I don't even know their name, or what they really look like, because it was like, some sorta mirage, only it was so powerful enough that I couldn't get *out* of it, and-" She looks up, suddenly self-conscious. "It could just all be a centipede bite, y'know? I was goin' through lookin' for wood and a centipede got on me, so maybe it bit me and... okay, maybe not, since these crows came and grabbed a bunch of my stuff? But I kind of let it happen because they were cute, and."
She lets out a frustrated sigh, but continues on after looking to Vash's face for confirmation of whether or not to continue. No matter what, determination takes over, and she takes in a breath, slowly exhaling. "Okay, so, I was going to get firewood, when there were these weird crows. One got near, and it had these bright blue eyes- kinda like yours, but not quite, I guess? I thought it was hurt, so I tried to reach out to touch it, and... it yelled at me, but instead of yelling, it was all these crows flying out, and oh guardians this makes no sense..."
<Pose Tracker> Vash the Stampede has posed.
Truly, he has a villain for a friend.
Which doesn't dilute that subtle edge of fondness in his expression any more, even for how much he might seem to lament his sorry fate.
... Or how much he might defiantly deny Gulliver his sugary snacks the second he breaches Vash's personal space. Marshmallows are suddenly grabbed and jerked aside to be held possessively in a truly overdramatic way; Vash's nostrils flare, his eyes narrowing, his entire expression adopting a true 'come at me bro!!' kind of look. "I'm onto your games, you mallow menace--!!" Yeah. -That's right-. Take that, innocent horse!
And so, Vash continues roasting his marshmallow, turning a cold shoulder to Gulliver's sorry plight.
A cold shoulder that Vash tosses a marshmallow over, every now and then, so the horse can catch it out of the air.
Totally on the down-low.
He's humming to himself, happy as a clam as he turns that marshmallow around to toast it well on either side, when Gwen speaks again. He blinks, looks down at his foot, purses his lips. "Huh? --Oh, it's fine! I have perfected ancient meditative arts! Mind over matter! One must simply come to the realization that what is life, but a marshmallow?"
He might be fixated on something, right now.
Speaking of which -- as Gwen starts to chow down on graham crackers, he squints. Brows furrow in thought, but he says nothing -- not when Gwen finally decides to speak of the very particular state she's in now. I think I messed up, she says, and as she explains, those distinctively blue eyes cast down toward the fire, pulling that well-roasted marshmallow free.
"Musta been some centipede, huh?" he wonders first and foremost; his tone is easy going, gentle even -- but in a subtle way that doubts that's the case. That it must be something more.
She continues on -- and Vash, at least, gives every nonverbal indication that he wants her to keep going. As she describes those crows, he quietly gets up off his feet, and makes his way over to her. Wordlessly, he plops down next to her, lifting his hands -- holding chocolate, two graham crackers, and his roasted marshmallow.
"Hey. Like this," he instructs simply, before he starts to wedge those component parts together, graham crackers making up the bread of an impromptu, marshmallow-chocolate sandwich. What madness!
He just smiles, though. Smiles a reassuring smile, and offers that completed s'more out to Gwen, instead of having it for himself.
"It's okay," he assures her, "it's all kinda crazy, right? But you wouldn't be telling me if you didn't think something happened." His voice is gentle; he waits, if only for a moment, before adding. "So... what happened? Did the crows take all your stuff--?"
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
Gwen's eyes go wide. "Like a kinda... sandwich, almost." She takes the offered sugary snack with some hesitation, as if being handed a piece of bacon sandwiched between two pieces of ham. But they're all good things, so why not taste it for yourself?
So she does.
Gwen's face lights up as she chews, nodding gleefully at the tall blond before swallowing. "Huh, t'think a bunch of sweet things made into a sandwich like that'd taste that good."
One hand goes to two uneatened squares of graham cracker, as well as some of her (borrowed) chocolate. "It went like... this, right?" The marshmallow is squished between the two crackers, and Gwen nods, with satisfaction.
"Here." The resulting product is offered out to Vash now, in much the same way he offered his to her moments earlier. "You'd be the expert."
It also gives her time to think over her words, rather than spilling over them nervously. "It was like I was cut off from the world," she begins, with a bit more confidence in her tone. "I don't get lost. If I did, I know what ways to get back. So the somewhere where I was didn't make any sense to me. The moons weren't where they were supposed to be. I thought it was some sorta... well, you probably don't know what Seraphs are, but like, maybe, think of it as a small mirrored world, where, if you were really in tune with how things were supposed to go, you'd feel off, but if you tried to explain it t'someone who doesn't understand those things, they'd think you were crazy."
But he doesn't seem to- or, at the very least, he's just listening.
And for that, Gwen finds herself able to keep going. "Finally got back to a campsite, but it wasn't my campsite. That's where all the crows were, and a bonfire. And this kid, with black hair, a black turtleneck and blue eyes, like the crows. And there were crows all around him, but he just tended the fire." She takes another bite on her s'more, chewing pensively. "I didn't know what force was goin' around, so I just invited myself there, and talked t'him. I guess it's really dumb of me to approach it all like that, but I didn't know what was goin' on. If this was some sorta spirit, or maybe even a Guardian, if I remain calm and just see what's goin' on, I figured... well, there was that, and then there were the crows."
The bare foot turns, toes wiggling against the heat of the fire. "They were kinda cute. All curious, but crafty too. They stole the charms off my boots, buttons- anything that was shiny. I'd focus on one, then the other. They were kinda cute, y'know? Even if I was in a place that didn't make no sense. The boy looked so stern, so I tried talkin' to him, and for a bit there, it seemed like he was tryin' t'help me. He wanted adventures, but not stories about em' when I offered t'tell him some. But then, when my handkerchief got taken away, I think he saw me tryin' to cover myself, so he asked what I was afraid of."
A free hand goes to her neck. "I have this scar, y'know? I get self-conscious about it. I mean, I bet most drifters wouldn't even blink, but it's real ugly, y'know? I just straight out told him." She grits her teeth, that same flash of anger in her voice. "He then asked me, when I got that scar, 'wouldn't that be the day I figured out I was really alive'? That lots of people have wandered the woods forever, not knowin' who they could have become 'cause they spent too much time hidin' the only thing that made them real."
'There's no point in meeting it yet, if you haven't had the chance to become real.'
Her hand grasps at the blouse's necklace, frowning. "He said that I should be proud of my pain, that soon that pain would be all I had left. He'll come for me, n' if I'm not enough of a real person..."
"He'll just eat me up."
<Pose Tracker> Vash the Stampede has posed.
Almost like a sandwich, observes Gwen, and Vash nods adamantly in obvious pride.
"Mm-hm! It's my own invention," no it's not, "I call it... 'The Kinda Sandwich, Almost!'" That's not what it's called, "... 'With Chocolate and Marshmallows!'" That's not a part of the name either. "The exclamations are part of the name." Neither is that.
But it should be.
But she takes a bite. And as her features practically glow with glee, Vash manages an easy smile, puncturing a marshmallow on a stick as he lets her enjoy it in peace.
"'The Sandwich Made of a Bunch of Sweet Things' was the second place contender for its name, actually!" No, Vash. No.
But she makes her own attempt -- and as the s'more is offered out to Vash, the man blinks. His head tilts; he listens to her words -- and a brief, genuine smile crosses his lips before he takes the thing.
And his mouth opens gapingly wide.
And he takes one immense--
CHOMP CHOMP CHOMP
no he just stuffs the whole thing into his mouth it's kind of disgusting
And so is that s'more devoured as if it had no chance when encountering the great old one that is Vash the Stampede's ravenous hunger. He forces the huge mass of food down with a few straining (definitely not choking (probably)) gulps, heaves a gasping breath... and immediately cups a thoughtful hand to his chin when the panting and the 'oh god i thought i was gonna die's have faded.
"... not bad for a beginner," he proclaims. "But you're not quite at my level yet. The art of the 'Sandwich That's Not a Sandwich But It Tastes Really Good and Is Probably Good For You But Don't Quote Me On That Seriously I Take No Responsibility For That Statement' is a craft easy to learn... but difficult to master." His voice is soaked in wisdom as he closes his eyes, cups his chin, and nods solemnly.
It's also all basically a lie.
And that's still not its name.
But eventually, that conversation returns to a subject much more serious. He quiets as Gwen works through her words in obvious deliberation, brows furrowing and head tilt as she speaks. He only interjects when she mentions Seraphs, helpfully shaking his head and offering a cheerful, "I have no idea what that word is!" in response to her musings.
But for all he may claim ignorance, he doesn't seem to doubt her, either. Or think she's crazy. No. He's too busy lost in thought.
A mirrored world that no one else can see...
He looks aside for a moment, blue eyes focused on fallen leaves in the distance.
She mentions the crows. A boy. The possibility that it might have been a Guardian... but that immediately rings false to him, even without having heard the whole story.
I have this scar, y'know? ... I mean, I bet most drifters wouldn't blink, but it's real ugly, y'know?
Those brows soften. The expression he takes is one sympathetic, perhaps pained in a very subtle, very brief way. But he doesn't speak. Not yet. Instead, he listens. And as she speaks, as she grasps onto that blouse, as she expresses the boy's warnings, his threats...
... Vash leans in to slowly, lightly poke Gwen right on the forehead.
"Wah!!" he suddenly exclaims, jerking back in frightened surprise. "I-I thought my hand was gonna pass right through you!! What kinda unreal person is solid?!" Nostrils flare. Shoulders sag in disappointment. "what a rip i mean honestly" he mumbles (barely) under his breath (not really). But the ridiculousness of it isn't the point.
It's...
"I dunno. You seem plenty real to me."
He looks back her way with a simple smile, the assured shake of his head; the weight of age behind eyes that shouldn't have that kind of presence. "It's okay. Drifter or not, I don't think anyone wants to be scarred. I don't think anyone wants to be that kind of hurt. Not really. And I don't think most people really wanna scar people like that, either. They just get scared. Not wanting to hurt, not wanting to hurt others...
"I think that kinda sentiment makes you more real than anything else, Gwen."
A second passes. And after, Vash laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. "But hey, what do I know?? I can't even hold on to my favorite camping spot!" It's a joke, light and easy, joined by that warm, infectious kind of laughter. It lasts a few handful of seconds, before it slowly fades... and he looks aside again, lips falling back towards a pensive line.
"That kid -- did he give you a name, or anything...?"
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
The Kinda Sandwich, Almost.'
"Nonono," Gwen says resolutely after swallowing a bite of her s'more, "a name for this has gotta be more confident-soundin'. LIke, 'The Campfire Dessert Sandwich'!" Gwen seems to just go along for the ride on this one, trusting only in the fact that she'll probably have fun along the way. Or maybe he did really invent that sandwich, it's really hard to tell with Vash sometimes, but probably not, seriously, it's Vash
Or Mr. Balderdash, but anyway. "The exclamations might work." She lifts a finger and squints her eyes, about to make another point, then pauses to eat the rest of her s'more, chewing and swallowing in that bit of silence. "But then people need to be tryin' to tell people what it is, and the more words a name has, th'more likely they're gonna just forget what it was called in the first place. That's why I call myself a 'super courier', not 'absolutely fantastic quick amazing courier'." Her finger wavers limply in the air. "Though I guess that title'd be harder to manage to remember, too. Or be confident with."
These tidbits of wisdom are pondered through as Vash struggles with the effort of swallowing her sandwich seemingly whole, getting a few pats on the shoulder for his momentous efforts. The courier just seems to trust that Vash will triumph over this battle, for his hunger knows no such thing as loss! Or something like that. "Well, I guess that means I'll need t'practice my dessert sandwich technique more," Gwen states resolutely, as she reaches for another marshmallow. "Practice makes perfect!"
As Gwen goes through her thought process, Vash speaks about Seraphs, causing her to stop. "Oh, oh, they're, uh, like Guardians? But not. Like, mini-Guardians. Not people you worship, but they can throw fireballs and stuff. Also, people can't see them! Unless they develop the ability to. I guess. There's this guy named Sorey, who was from this place called Lunar, and-" She rubs her head. "It's a long story."
Vash's silence from then on gives Gwen the space to travel back into her thoughts, slipping back into her memories like a steadily chilling pool. Pain filters into the corners of her gaze as she stares towards the fire, her eyes shifting to look towards Vash's own. Just what scars did he have? Did he have any? Who'd want to hurt a guy like hi-
poke
Gwen flinches back just as Vash does, then laughs, shocked out of her stupor. "Y'think he'd be right? He wasn't even right about the whole 'you must've wanted yaddayadda' speech! *C'mo-"
Then Vash finally speaks, his words feeling as real as the finger that pressed briefly against her temple. The redhead looks up at Vash with a mellow smile, the warmth reflecting in her gaze. "... Heh. Y'sound like you're talkin' about yourself, too." Her smile steadily brightens, even as her eyes begin to water, just slightly. "I've only known you for a few months, I guess, but sometimes, it feels like I'd known you for longer. People like that are rare. They just reach out to people in ways that are hard t'see at first, but wherever they go, they leave a part of their kindness behind to take root." She rubs the back of her neck sheepishly. "Does that, uh, make sense? I mean, it sounded all flowery n' all that."
His name. Gwen purses her lips. "He said his name wasn't important. I didn't want to insist, at the time, for a lotta reasons."
<Pose Tracker> Vash the Stampede has posed.
Gwen Whitlock's deep, introspective advice on the nature of the perfect name all receive a very deep, thoughtful look from one Vash the Stampede, brows furrowing deeply and eyes narrowing as he adopts a true Thinker Pose. And then a true Eureka! pose, eyes widening and a finger lifting towards the sky in triumph.
"A-HA! So I should name it the Super Sandwich!!'"
Did he just -- yeah, he just stole Gwen's title and replaced courier with sandwich, that's exactly what he did.
"Now I'll hafta find some way to copyright it..."
Wait what?
He seems deep in thought about this copyrighting process, whatever it might be, at least for as long as it takes him to be distracted by nearly choking and dying on his Super Sandwich (s'more). Thankfully, he recovers quickly, with a simple melodramatic complaint of, "You coulda patted my back instead of my shoulder I almost died!!" that quickly disappears to the ether as soon as it's delivered. He is instantly wearing the guise of the wise mentor soon after, a heavy hand resting upon Gwen's shoulder. "Don't worry, my child," he intones, in a voice that makes him sound anything but wise or deep or sage-like. He just sounds like he's trying to imitate an old man's voice. Old people are smart, right?
"It shall come to you in time, like the lotus flower must drift upon the river of life before it reaches its final destination...!"
It sounds smart. Right??
But it's a sagely wisdom (and poorly mimicked voice) that falls by the wayside as Gwen speaks further, even for that detour that she offers to explain the Seraphim. "Ohhhh, I get it!" exclaims Vash, in a tone that very much makes it sound like he does not, in fact, Get It. "So Seraphim are the source of long stories... huh..." Definitely does not get it.
Probably. (?)
Whatever scars Vash might have, though -- whatever lingering pain he might feel -- it's all things wholly forgotten in the midst of Gwen's dilemma, as if, for as much as he might be prone to ridiculousness, the girl's wellbeing is his only concern at the moment. Which is, perhaps, why he just blinks and points at himself lamely when she brings him up, head tilting... before he ultimately just rubs the back of his head in a sheepish way, grinning like a fool. "Well, it made sense in that it was flowery, so I think you hit your mark!"
But even that can't help hide that rare look of genuine happiness in the blonde's blue stare. Not so much that she would praise him so, but...
He said his name wasn't important.
"The man with no name, eh..."
Vash's gaze tilts downward, lost in a deep thought. Frozen like a statue is he, save for the slow rotation of his marshmallow, before those eyes slowly close and a rueful (?) smile touches his lips. Are his... teeth glinting--?
"Heh. Very well. Though I laid my weapon down years ago to hunt that elusive mayfly known as love, I see I have no choice."
And suddenly, Vash is SNAPPING up onto his feet, eyes ablaze in determination as he clenches one fist as the other snaps his stick into the sky.
"I, Mister Gulashdedash, shall take up the humble sword--" he has never even owned a sword "--of the yojimbo once more!" He turns. Eyes aflame. And stares DETERMINATION RAYS upon Gwen!!
"Do not worry, Super Courier! For I, your faithful yojimbo--" is he still on that, what even is that "--have returned to your side after decades in retirement! My vigil shall be eternal, until this vile fiend is thwarted, this I swear!! I shall let nothing dangerous befall you!!"
And here, he decisively points that stick at Gwen. That stick with the marshmallow.
The marshmallow that is currently, and has been, on fire.
"...
"... ...
"... ... WAH WHY IS IT IN FIRE AHHH PUT IT OUT PUT IT OUTTTT"
A truly steadfast yojimbo indeed.
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
"H-hey, wait! No copying or writing anything." Gwen plants her hands on her hips, her marshmallow-laden stick tucked between the fingers of her right hand while she adopts the best disapproving frown she can manage without breaking once more into laughter. "Besides, it's gotta be descriptive. What's it super for? So, if it has to have 'super' with it, it better be 'the super campfire dessert sandwich'." Her face wrinkles as she plays with the sound of that name in her head, before finally suggesting, "Maybe... the Campfire Dessert Deluxe Special!"
It sounds important enough that it may work. Even if it's still long.
But then Vash is dropping yet another nugget of wisdom, Gwen staring at the blonde sage's face before her cheeks begin to puff, just slightly....
And then whatever was there escapes in a flurry of quiet laughter, a snort escaping before she manages to clap a hand over her mouth.
As Vash takes in Gwen's words, his words suggest it may have not quite hit his mark, but his smile and the earnest happiness on his face speaks louder to Gwen.
It was the truth. There would have been few people she would have admitted such a thing to, even as scared as she was. To be looked at as crazy, emotional, or worse, pitiful, was too much of a risk. It's so much easier to tuck these problems away and continue on, hoping it was just a fluke. Sometimes, those things turned out that way.
"Well, he was more like a boy, but his voice did get kinda weird near the end, so maybe I can't realllly say he was a young boy?" Gwen idly turns the marshmallow over the fire, the fire's glare lighting the edge of her face.
It would be a week or two later that Gwen would realize the truth, with the rumors of travelers disappearing in the same spots as where she met that strange boy. Stories of crows, of abstract spaces and wood smoke. She'd then know it was all true, and the fear would begin to churn in her stomach again.
It just felt bizarrely personal, in a way that scared her more than facing the strongest of the Metal Demon army. There, she was just one of many, easily excusable. WIth this man, it felt both impersonal and intimate. He didn't know her, but he wanted to know. Worse, he wanted to know things she refused to even touch in her psyche. A man like that wouldn't think of resorting to possibly cruel methods to get his answers.
But for what purpose? What was the point?
Wasn't it better to live life?
Just like this. Gwen finds herself drifting away once again, swallowing a laugh at 'Mister Gulashdedashs brave display. The stick gets turned again, the marshmallow crisping to a consistent golden brown. "Well, I'll be going west soon, just so you know. If you wanna follow me out there and be my yo-gym-bow, you're always welcome. Both in the wagon and in any camps I steal from you. It's only fair!" Her gaze softens. "You've done a lot for me and a lotta other people. Maybe, someday, I'll find a way to pay you back for that, this way. But even if you don't come, you can always throw me a message."
Vash's flailing with his flaming marshmallow is answered with Gwen's own marshmallow, presented to him with a wide grin. "Show me again. I think I need to have another, for taste testing reasons, y'know?"