2018-10-15: Where the Sky Leads
- Log: Where the Sky Leads
- Cast: Gwen Whitlock, Vash the Stampede
- Where: Gunsmoke Desert
- Date: 10/15/2018
- Summary: When Gwen needs some good advice on how to deal with a childhood friend possibly dealing with forces beyond her imagination, who better to turn to than a pacifistic, well-meaning nomad in a red coat?
=============================<* Gunsmoke Desert *>============================== The Gunsmoke Desert occupies the northwestern portion of Ignas. This desert is different from Aveh's. Instead of rolling dunes of sand, it has dry and cracked ground, and the mountains that rim it also intrude into the interior, forming stunning rock formations that can look as beautiful as they look impossible. The settlements here are hard-pressed to survive, consisting of countless small towns. The lucky few are connected by railways to the Seed Cities scattered about the Gunsmoke. Many are lost to the sands, which cover them and a tremendous concentration of ruins from Filgaia's past. This makes these badlands the heart of Drifter activity in Ignas. BGM: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4z_CxmE0AkA
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
One delivery shouldn't take that much of the day to do. But, as Gwen had delivered the various medications to the Ethos Orphanage in Little Twister, she had instead found herself drawn into her priest friend's current world, of caring for sick children while those with more health than they know what to do with run around, cry about one of them punching the other, getting the admittedly small worship area swept up, getting dinner ready, preparing medicine, cleaning clothes, washing dishes, and it just went on and on and on. But that's how it went, when there was only one well person to look out for the flock of little ones in this den of corruption and dust.
Which led to tonight, at a campfire safely away from Little Twister, under the glinting stars, with Gwen lying exhausted on a blanket, her feet pointed towards the radiant warmth of the fire. Gulliver meanwhile was pleasantly chewing away at his meal, his tail swishing from side to side as he watches his person lie on the ground. He had a wonderful time, with kids petting him and feeding him stuff he shouldn't have, and maybe a few of them pulled on his ears and his tail but he didn't care because he was getting so much food and attention and why doesn't his person come to visit this place more
And, like on many nights, they have their usual conversations. One-sided, mostly, because one of them is a horse.
*snort*
"... If Janus comes, tell him he can have the stupid pendent. Besides, I dunno if he'd come if there's someone else here."
*snorrrrt*
"...."
Snooorrt.
"..... No, I don't know if the message gets to 'im, if his name's different."
She vaults up. "OH GUARDIANS I FORGOT, uh, shoot, I gotta make somethin' too!" She zips to the back of the wagon and ducks in, haphazardly shoving things left and right. "I still have the... no, I ate that... But maybe there's the- uh, guess I ate that too..."
Gulliver, meanwhile, munches and snorts, ever the polite conversationalist, not understanding a single thing his person is saying.
"Did I tell him to meet me here or by November City? Damn it..." A pan flies out. "Maybe it *was* November City because Little Twister might be a little risky... but..."
A pause.
".... I guess there's always beans..."
<Pose Tracker> Vash the Stampede has posed.
There are certain truths in this world. You need air to live. Filgaia is round and rotates perpetually around the sun that will forever set in the west. Food is a necessity but delicious food is an indulgence.
And Vash the Stampede is a man not found unless he wants to be found.
"VASH! VASH THE STAMPEDE!! I FOUND YOU!"
... Like all things in life truth is sometimes open to interpretation.
BEFORE
"AHHHH I TOLD YOU NEVER TO CALL ME THAT!"
This is the calm counsel of one VASH THE STAMPEDE as he suddenly spins about in sheer shock and dismay; the truly impressively-sized bundle of logs he carries over his shoulder fly just over some poor soul's head as he pivots and -jabs- an accusational finger at the source of his ire --
-- a thoroughly unimpressed-looking boy.
"Whatever. Like anyone would believe you were him anyway!"
"Wh-what?!"
In the months following their return to Filgaia, Vash has been here -- a small SEED town that borders the Badlands and Kislev, it's a place he's been once before. The children who hurled their (hurtful insults) loving banter at him then are grandparents now. It's strange, to see how much has changed, and at the same time...
"Maybe if you were Vash the Stampede's nerdy older brother!"
"WHAT!"
... how much remains the same.
A long lecture about how nerds are cool now and how the newest generation has no respect and also Vash might have chased the child around a bit brandishing logs menacingly later, the red-coated nomad finally finds out that someone has left him a message. He doesn't really even need to hear it to know who it is; there's not many who would reach out to him like this, after all. Fewer still who'd want to talk. Still, he takes the message all the same, and it gentles his expression to.
She's still out there, working. That's good. That's--
"VAAAAAAA~AAAAAAAAASH THE NERDPEEEEEEEEEEEDE~~"
"WORDS ARE LIKE BULLETS, YOU KNOW -- OR MAYBE I SHOULD 'SHOW YOU'! GA HA HA HA!"
"AAHHH"
And so it goes, until...
NOW
Gwen Whitlock is having a very one-sided conversation with her horse.
I still have the... no, I ate that...
*snorrrt*
But maybe there's the- uh, guess I ate that too...
*snooort?!*
Did I tell him to meet me here or by November City?
*snrrrt!!*
.... I guess there's always beans...
*snoooooooooo~ooooort*
And so it goes, until -- wait, since when has Gulliver's snorts ever dabbled in tildes??
It might be this, or something more reasonable like the sound being completely off or there being two pairs of snorts at once now that might clue Gwen Whitlock in to the fact that she is not alone anymore -- well, relatively speaking, anyway, as Gulliver is an ever-faithful companion. And if she should look up from her food rummaging, she will find a familiar figure, seated upon Gulliver, covered in a tattered gray cloak. Snorting. No --
-- no wait, not snorting, is he -- snoring??
*snnnnnnnnrrrrrrrttttzzz*
Yep. There be Vash the Stampede.
Sleeping while on a horse.
Like a big shot.
He actually looks rather comfortably secured (how did he even manage?!); head lolling to the right, mouth gaping open, nostrils flaring, he grips something in his hands. A bag, it looks like. Paper bag? It reads:
'HUNGRY HARRY'S HOT DOGS'
'NOVEMBER CITY'S OWN'
It looks stuffed to the gills.
Did he go to November City first and then make it all the way over here--??
*snoortttt*"thoughtitwasnovember"*snorttttt*
Well.
... That answers that question.
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
If there is one thing Gwen has learned, it's that you must always be a gracious host. Especially to people who have saved your life. Also because you are hungry, which Gwen is.
With a laugh of triumph, Gwen draws out the cloth bag of dry beans, distracted in her frantic search from the fact that Gulliver is unusually talkative. And extremely talented, given the overlapping of some of those snorts. And the tildes. That's not very horse-like at all!
So Gwen freezes there, digesting the presence of a man in a tattered cloak just laying on her horse. Her horse, which hasn't even budged from his spot, appreciative of this new nice-smelling blanket.
"... you're here already...." Gwen murmurs with astonishment. D-did he go to November City, then run across the desert trying to find her? ..... not that this would be *too* difficult. After all, Gwen is a woman found unless she doesn't want to be found. Which is rarely.
Which makes the fact that she has what is apparently one part of a key for undoing a seal on a demon king particularly troublesome.
Gwen squints, debating an outlandish idea for a moment. A sneaky, potentially brilliant idea, one that makes her eyes twinkle with the potential to lord it over Janus. No, she does not have the pendant, Janus, because she stowed it away on....!
Her expression softens into a frown. No. Regardless of who he is, he doesn't need more trouble on his hands. Or around his neck.
Delicately, Gwen hooks a few shaky fingers around the handle of the bag, trying to extract the meaty meal from Vash's sleeping grasp like a prisoner trying to relieve a guard of their cell's key. Careful, careful now....
<Pose Tracker> Vash the Stampede has posed.
Maybe it's for the best that Gwen Whitlock's brilliant idea for hiding away her half of a Demon King Key remains, for now, a thought on the desert wind and little more. Seeing it through might very well incur horrible consequences.
Like 'Vash the Stampede having half of a Demon King Key.'
Regardless, the mind-bending and potentially non-euclidean physics of how Vash managed to arrive here so fast if he had a small teensy tiny stopover at November (which he is quite dreamily insistent is the case) is yet another thing that might well go unanswered, considering how doggedly dedicated he seems to be to his horse-based hibernation. It is a deep sleep, it seems, one yet it is one that has Vash clenching his bag of hot dogs like they were in the vicey snare of death's own grip. Another set of fingers hooks into the handles. Tugs. It barely budges, but by the second, it eases its way upward as Vash the Stampede snorts anew.
Careful, careful now does Gwen try to ease Vash of his meaty burden, one tiny bit at a time. Almost there. Almost there...!
"bwuh"
And this is the sputtered sigh of Vash the Stampede as sky blue eyes crack open and his world becomes filled with the sight of Gwen Whitlock:
"Bwuh?"
Hot Dog Thief! (??)
"BWUH!!"
And with this articulate cry, Vash the Stampede goes wide-eyed, the sheer surprise making him loose his grip on that bag of dogs (of the hot, non-dog variety). His arms wheel like windmills --
"BWUUUUUUUUUHHH--!"
-- but alas, it is too late to stop the inevitable --
*CRASH*
"bwuuuhhh"
Tangled limbs aside, though, he looks fine.
Relatively speaking, considering their history.
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
The headlines would be endless.
'VASH THE STAMPEDE IN CAHOOTS WITH DEMON KING'
'VASH THE STAMPEDE, EVIL LIEUTENANT OF DEMON KING'
'DEMON KING PROBABLY THINKS VASH THE STAMPEDE IS SCARY, SAYS EXPERT'
'VASH THE STAMPEDE THREATENED TO SHOOT ME WITH WORDS, SAYS CHILD'
But alas, wiser heads prevailed in this dimension.
As the gangly weight of Vash the Stampede falls on the poor, delicate Gwen Whitlock, the courier uses her own body in a brave, selfless act to shield the venerable hot dogs, tucking them underneath her as there is a horrendous crash.
"..... grt... d... " That grunting is the sound of the poor, delicate Gwen Whitlock attempting to haul the heavy tangled mass of limbs off with her right hand. Whether he falls off due to the magic of gravity or Gwen's persistent tugging, the courier straightens, bag in one hand, revealing the outcome: the hot dogs are miraculously okay.
*crick* "FFFFFf--" Gwen's back, however, may not be. But it'll be fine, relatively speaking.
----LATER----
Gwen gestures with her half-eaten hot dog at Vash. "So, the Metal Demons' Mother is awake now, but someone's got a way to track where she is, n' a bunch of us are gonna go n' somehow make her go back to sleep. Or whatever we need to do to make sure they don't just take over. I'm makin' it sound real simple, but this'll probably be a huge pain in the neck because I've never been there before, n' nobody else has either."
She then completes her hot dog with gusto, her hands reaching for yet another from the bag, places securely within reach of both of them. "But that ain't what I asked you t'come here for, I'm just catchin' you on on generally events 'cause I *might* need to go save the world," she says, pointing another hot dog at Vash. "... Well, help it. Uh, well, at least, go to a place I've never been before and get back in one piece. Which I am gonna do because like hell am I gettin' stuck in that place. Whereever it is."
Something grows melancholy and thoughtful in those fog grey eyes of hers, lit up by the shifting shadows of the campfire.
"There's a person I know, from when I was a kid, named Janus Cascade. You probably don't know who he is, or the people in his gang, but he's a giant jerk who's tried to kill me again and again, then acts like nothing has happened. He's bitter, thinks the world ain't worth a damn, and pretty much does whatever he needs to do to get whatever he wants." Her expression softens. "I still think of him as my childhood friend. And in spite of everything, I want him to be okay. Especially now, because he's gotten involved in something that might be over his head." Her gaze lowers to her hot dog, the meal looking suddenly not as appetizing in light of what she has to consider.
"... No, I think he knows exactly what he's getting into. And if he succeeds, if everyone defeats Mother, we might just switch from that to something just as bad. But in spite of that, I... well, yeah, I'll stop him, but so will a bunch of people. N' they may not care if he lives or dies. In fact, I figure a lot of people'd be happier if he was dead, or somehow out of the picture."
And this is where the question lies. One she could only possibly ask a person like Vash, who has seemed to uphold this strange, pacifistic notion that, indeed, the world is made of love and peace.
"... You're probably one of the few people I know that always seems to look for the least violent solution. So. Uh. This is probably a really, really terrible question, but uh, what would you do, if you were in my shoes? If it came down to protecting the world, or protecting a friend who might be beyond seein' your actions as anythin' more than foolish. What would you do?"
<Pose Tracker> Vash the Stampede has posed.
"Mm-hm, mm-hm, mm-hm!"
These are the sounds of Vash the Stampede's mouthful of amicable agreement as Gwen Whitlock details her plan to ship off to Elru and save the world or just not die, that would be swell too. Grinding down hot dogs between his teeth, he is a picture of mirthful agreement that might just be because he's eating so much food or could possibly be because he has so much confidence in Gwen that he can take her confident-ish declarations on faith.
OR both. It can be two things.
Either way, after a few seconds, the blond vagabond pauses. His chewing stops, cheeks puffed out, brows furrowed, blue eyes squinted skeptically.
"Wait. Is the Metal Demons' Mother..."
He leans in, a look of dawning shock and horror on his features.
"... part bear???"
First of all: it's more likely than you think.
Second of all: what's a bear??
Regardless of the mystery of Mother's hibernation patterns and genetic ancestry, Vash seems to puzzle over this troubling possibility in between the bites of his meal. "You should be fine! Probably! I've been all kinds of places, and they usually all have some good in them. Why, just today I went to that far away land of November City!" It's not that far away, Vash. "And though I faced great obstacles and terrible tribulations, I overcame, and the great Harry of Harry's Hungry Hot Dogs gave me his greatest selection of dogs for free for my efforts!"
FOOTAGE NOT FOUND
"So maybe you'll get free Metal Demon hot dogs? Hmmm..."
But for all his theatrics, Vash quiets as Gwen explains her dilemma. And for all his energy previously, his expression becomes something more subdued, warm yet in a somber way, as Gwen lays out her situation. He wouldn't know him, Gwen says, and Vash makes no remark on that. Instead...
What would you do?
... instead, Vash quietly sets his half-finished hot dog aside for the moment as he looks up towards the starry night sky.
"... I knew someone, a long time ago," he begins, his voice calm, measured. "She always saw the good in everything. The silver lining in every cloud. She always told me, a single life has unlimited possibilities. The choices that a single person can make can spiral out into a hundred, a thousand, different paths. Maybe some of them are bad. People don't always do the right thing. We make mistakes. We get scared. It's okay. That happens. But when you take away that life... you're taking away each and every one of those possibilities. All of their potential."
His eyes shut for a brief moment. And when they reopen, he looks Gwen's way, his smile hapless. "Maybe your friend has done bad things. Maybe he's going to try to do something terrible. But that doesn't mean you give up on him, as long as there's that possibility."
He pauses, and the laugh that comes is a self-effacing one, coupled with the way he rubs the back of his neck. "Or, I guess, that's how I'd handle it! I'm sure it's not the way most would see it, but... it's the only way for me."
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
It is good to survive. Gwen knows this fact well. It would be a terrible, terrible fate to survive nearly being killed, giving up a piece of what is most likely your very humanity (or not really, but it feels like it) for the chance to survive, not dying in spite of losing a lot of blood and possibly your humanity, survive getting nursed back to health by a bum, a hungry horse, and a grumpy rat nurse, survive a giant demon whale, survive Frea's attempt at a welcome home meal, survive... whatever the heck that machinegearthing in the desert was, survive... everything-
-and fall to a being that may be a bear.
And of course Gwen knows what bears are. They're mythical creatures, like unicorns. Kind of like a a cross between a.... cat and a.... dog? Horse? Frea had some weird books. "... Y'know, you might be onto somethin'," Gwen supposes with the tilt of her chin, taking another bite of her hot dog. Chewing. Swallowing. "Legend says they sleep a lot. And eat fish. And they're really, really big. As big as a house, even. Maybe even a ship. Huge." She gestures with her arms out wide.
Somehow, that makes the notion of battling this unknown being a lot easier to wrap her mind around. Also, Vash's food-fed vote of confidence that Gwen will be okay.
"Yeah, it ain't like I'd be goin' by myself! And you never know. There just might be hot dogs!" DO NOT THINK ABOUT WHAT THE HOT DOGS MIGHT BE MADE OF, IT IS A DARK TUNNEL TO NIGHTMARETOWN
It almost makes the idea of asking for advice a silly notion. Why not just think about bearmoms, new adventures in an unknown land, and the marvelous Harry and his wonderful hot dogs.
Vash's subdued expression is enough to make Gwen place down her meal, giving the blonde man her full attention.
And she listens.
"..." It's strange, that Gwen never thought about it this way. It's a heavy thought, pressing shut the very notion that killing could ever be easily justified, even when your own life was threatened. It wasn't even just a notion of kindness, as Gwen tried to justify her path.
"... So that's why you act the way you do. Even against the Quarter Knights." A small, sweet smile spreads on her lips, her eyes glinting at piece of hope she feels, no matter how random, deep inside her. "I think it's a good thing to live by. It's one of the things that makes the world so beautiful, y'know? Every life out there, glittering in the sand like stars in the sky. If even one is snuffed out, that's one less star, and the world is a little dimmer for it." She chuckles. "I guess that's a little flowery, but it's like that, right?"
Taking out her canteen, she takes a sip, offering an extra for Vash.
"... And you're right. That possibility still exists. I can't make him see it, but I can make sure he lives to see it. And if he does, maybe his two followers will too."
The hand holding the offered canteen sags slightly, a question beginning to form in her gaze.
She decides to ask something less grim instead.
"... was she a part of your family? Or a friend?"
<Pose Tracker> Vash the Stampede has posed.
Surviving, and living. Most might not think there's a difference. But Vash knows the distinct divide between those two with painful clarity.
And it hurts to know that most don't think they have the luxury to understand that very important difference.
Also important things to understand:
"HA HA! THAT'S WHERE YOU'RE WRONG, GWEN GWENLOCK!"
The nature of bears. To wit:
"Bears aren't the size of a house. Not even a ship!! You see... they are as big as our imaginations! And they feed off the fish in our hearts! Their power is not one to be trifled with!"
All this, Vash says, while looking as deathly serious as they grave, expression flat and blue eyes beady points of deadly certainty as he leans in closer and closer.
"Bears are the architects of our demise."
None of it is right, of course.
"And they will not be satisfied until they have taken all of our honeypots."
But it's the thought that counts.
"So! All we have to do is find some honeypots and give them to this 'Mama Bear,'" not her name "and we should be fine! I'm a genius! Wa ha ha!!"
????
But whatever excellent advice (?????!!!!!!) Vash might have to offer about the treacherous nature of metal bear moms and their sacred lands falls by the wayside in the wake of that advice he offers. Long arms draped over his knees, currently bent up against his chest, the hidden metal joints of his unseen prosthetic twitch faintly at the bubbling up of old memories. Blond brows knit for a mild moment of trepidation, before his real hand quietly layers over the fake one.
"Exactly. I think it's okay to think like that," he assures Gwen, on the aftermath of her would-be flowery statement. His smile is a small one, subdued but genuine. Oftentimes, those goofy smiles, that manic exuberance, it never quite reaches his eyes. There's always something else there. This one, small though it may be?
"In fact, I think it's a good thing."
It touches at that sea green gaze in the tiniest twinkle.
He hesitates, then, as she asks that question; a hand abandons his knee, the mechanical, gloved fingers rubbing at the back of his neck. Less grim, she thinks, and realistically it is. But it dredges up memories, too.
"... I guess you could call her family. Like a mother," he explains, as honestly as he can. "I think I'd be a very different person if it wasn't for her. She never stopped believing the best in people, even when..."
His sentence trails. He shakes his head, offering Gwen a simple, sad smile.
"... Someone I knew put it like this once: would you kill the spider to save the butterfly? I don't think I could. But I couldn't let the butterfly die, either. The answer you come up with... well, that one has to be your own. But I think, no matter how much ugliness there is in this world, at the center of it all..."
Normally, the next words he utters would be hyperbolic and overly enthusiastic. But here, they sound so simple, so straightforward, so honestly positive one couldn't help but hope they were true:
"... this world is made of love and peace."
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
'HA HA!'
Gwen nearly flops back at Vash's bear-y important advice, about the nature of, well, bears. The courier that had stared down giant whale demons, lords of calamity (including honorary ones), and some of the toughest Metal Demons known to man shudders at the very thought of this devious, ursine being
"... Our honeypots..." Gwen cringes back even further at the very thought of it. That rare, sweet, crystalline treat from insects that supposedly exist, who have a queen(?), and dance from flower to flower. Yes, it would make sense that these bears would want to take this treasure from them. "No, nonono!" She leans in now, crossing her arms in front of her for effect, hot dog hanging forlornly from her left hand. "That stuff doesn't spoil. I've had clients pay mad gella for a jar of the stuff!"
There will have to be another way. There will bee no sacrifice to this pandamonium. Not on Gwen's watch!
But there are more pressing matters than even the subject of metal bear moms and their metal army of cubs.
"... I've wondered, sometimes. My actions sometimes means people put themselves in danger for my sake. It's not like I don't see it. But I'm able to do things other people can't. And I've been in pain before." Vash's small smile, somehow as true as the bluest sky, causes Gwen to smile in turn, her following words soft. "... Thank you, for letting me know I'm not alone." She likely never was. But to hear it from Vash makes it feel... definite, in a way she can't put her finger on. Like a man who knew pain beyond Gwen's imagination, but still kept his belief.
... No. If the world had any justice, the only sorts of trouble he's had to deal with is just due to his own acts of buffoonery, or due to looking like a certain criminal. Which he may or may not actually be.
When he goes quiet, Gwen's lips twist slightly with concern. Was the question too private? When he finally speaks, her body relaxes into a cross-legged sit, nudging another small log into the fire, giving Vash room in the warm quiet crackle of flame for his thoughts.
This person believed the best in people, even when....
Ah. The smile on Gwen's face grows sad. "... I see." She falls silent, pondering the outline of her right ARM, and how it made it so easy, when Gwen thought about it, to draw it out and harm another person. It's happened, even, when she didn't check her own emotions, all up to a very grim line in the sand.
She ponders it over, and sighs, shaking her head. "I don't think I could kill either one. People sometimes do cruel things to survive. A spider eats the butterfly in order to live. To kill the spider, I'd just be as bad. Because no one does things just to..."
Janus's sadistic grin cuts an arc of white teeth in Gwen's memory. Pain creases her face. "... just to... hurt others. No one destroys for the sake of destroying. It just... doesn't make sense."
<Pose Tracker> Vash the Stampede has posed.
"Then you must fight, fight for -- wait what really, MAD gella??"
Vash the Stampede's glorious pep talk ends within a moment in favor of studiously stroking his chin. One can practically see the dollar signs (gella signs??) forming in his eyes as he does.
"... hmmm, mad gella..."
One can only imagine what sort of honey-related get rich quick schemes he might well be concocting. It is truly a harrowing thought indeed.
But it is one that ultimately drifts to the wayside; hot dog in hand, Vash doesn't so much as give the food he grips a second thought as he stares into the wild crackle of those flames. There's probably a pattern that one could deduce even to the chaos of a flame's tongue, shift in air and oxygen that one could use to predict its flow. Vash might well know it. But for now, he just enjoys the sight of its dance, and how the heat transforms the world around it just by being there. It's one of many simple comforts that have made a long and lonely life worth living.
"Mm," exhales the Stampede, after a soft moment. He considers his next words. And though he feels like a hypocrite for saying them, in some distant part of himself, he still believes them nonetheless: "There's always going to be things we can't control, no matter how hard we try. It's... we can't always keep people from being hurt. And sometimes that's our" my "fault." He looks her way. This is, perhaps, the most sincere he's ever been.
And perhaps that's just because Vash the Stampede is only ever what he feels other people need him to be within that moment.
"But that just means we need to keep on trying."
Eventually, his attention returns to his hot dog. He lifts it to his lips, about to take a bite and banish the memories of a certain, black haired woman and the cold smile of a blond-haired boy from his thoughts, when Gwen's words draw a pause from the be-cloaked nomad. He glances back her way. And though he doesn't say the words, his softening expression says everything he doesn't bring voice to.
'I don't think I could kill either one.'
'I know,' that look says. And as she goes further...
... the hand that finds her shoulder to give a sympathetic squeeze says as much too, without ever saying it.
Only a moment later, Vash digs a hand into that bag once more. He produces another hot dog -- and offers it Gwen's way with a faint smile.
"We'll figure it out," he assures. And even if not, at the very least...
... they'll try.
[OOC] Gwen Whitlock shall need to bluray that
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
Thus began the era of the Dread Honey Thief, Vash the Stampede, inspired by a single comment, accumulating in a new legacy of terror against all who love sweet things.
Or, maybe not.
Vash's next words somehow ring over the crackle of the fire, seeming to come from some secret spot deep within him that Gwen rarely sees. Her eyes widen.
In that moment, she settles back on a thought that felt so idealistic the few times it bubbled up in her mind. What if the world was one where the dreaded, powerful Vash the Stampede really a person who made a mistake, and is trying to make up for it? There was no deadly criminal on the run.
If seeing Fei's struggles merely began to crack the covering of the thought, the sight of Vash strips the entire notion bare of any gilded idealism, showing the selfish, dark truth underneath.
A man has to suffer, if that's true. And he'd have to suffer for decades with a pain few would even known how to comprehend, save souls like Fei. And somehow, he'd have to do it without falling to despair, as Janus seems to have.
When Vash's hand finds Gwen's shoulder, the redhead places her own left hand on top of it, squeezing it back as she lifts soft grey eyes at him, speaking words she doesn't dare say aloud.
'I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to lose that precious person.'
Her eyes then close, the hand gripping Vash's once more before letting go.
It could be thought of as strange, how he manages to comfort her so easily. The man is ultimately a stranger, but at the same time, he feels like an old friend, like someone who had always been around, in some form.
One hand accepts the hot dog, a chuckle on her lips as her eyes open, their gaze bright against the light of the fire.
"Even if it takes us the rest of our lives to figure it out." She tilts her head, her freckled cheeks lifting with the warmth of her smile as she looks up to the stars above. "But isn't the sky more beautiful when you don't know where it leads to?"
<Pose Tracker> Vash the Stampede has posed.
Sometimes, words aren't necessary to convey a message. Maybe it's just because the sentiment is universal. Maybe it's because the people know each other that well. Maybe it's simply one of those moments where things transcend beyond what can be spoken.
Whatever the reason here, tonight, that unspoken understanding is there in the silence between Vash the Stampede and Gwen Whitlock. Whatever Vash's history, whatever tribulations he might have endured, they are not something he brings voice to, or even feels like he ought to. What he does offer is assurance, and confidence -- the things he feels Gwen needs.
And Gwen, in turn, offers that thing she feels Vash needs.
Sympathy.
Appreciation filters through, then, even if the reasons why never go voiced. As soon as that hot dog is passed on, Vash leans himself backwards, one hand planting into the ground behind him while the other lifts his own hot dog to his lips. He only pauses, once again, as Gwen speaks. Blond brows lift. His expression is one of curiosity, almost -- or perhaps a muted sort of surprise that looks so at odds with some of the more egregiously audacious expressions he somehow manages as if through magic. He looks up towards the skies as she does, then, and as his eyes gain a distant quality of someone with so much more experience than what his physical appearance might suggest, Vash allows himself a little, nostalgic kind of smile.
"Yep," he agrees, after a moment. Because it is. Because...
"Because there's endless possibilities ahead of you."