[ there's a click of his tongue at the good boy, warmth both familiar and something almost uncomfortable running down his spine. he leans against the side of the saloon, phone tucked between his ear and shoulder as he lights the cigarette between his lips. ]
I ain't the one runnin'. Maybe you should tell yourself that.
What, me? [ if wolfwood could only see him, fluttering his lashes like an innocent maiden - or maybe it's best that they can't see each other right now; that would surely get vash a punch to the head.
the dry slide of flint catching is loud enough that vash could almost think he is beside him - standing shoulder to shoulder as vash normally tries to be, or wolfwood half a step behind as he prefers it; he could almost smell the smoke from here as he shifts, idly picking at the worm-nests built under the gaps of the roof tiles. ]
I'm not getting into trouble. 'M just sittin' here, enjoying the breeze...
[ that innocuous tone just this side of too innocent tips him off, and the puff of smoke that wafts from his lips comes out a little amused in spite of it, the knee-jerk reaction of annoyance absent from the distance. ]
I'll believe it when I see it. [ he takes a long drag, flicking ash from the end of the cigarette. ] So, where are you, Spikes?
[ there's nothing stopping wolfwood from looking for vash himself. it wouldn't be the first time, nor would it be the last. but sometimes he thinks he can delude himself into thinking that he has a choice; that if he asks, he will receive, without something coming to bite him in the ass for it later. ]
his act might fool a lot of people - what's with his constant sunny smiles and the untidy fall of his hair and the wide baby blue eyes - but it never seems to fool wolfwood, seeing right through the facade as though it were nothing more than clear glass. but that doesn't stop vash from trying it, anyway ... especially if the near-silent exhale on the other end of the phone doesn't sound as though wolfwood is about to blow his gasket sky high. ]
Guess! [ vash chirps out cheerfully, swinging his legs where they hang over the sand-clogged edge of the roof. just what does he think this is, hide and seek? ]
it goes both ways, right, that glass, as much as wolfwood would insist otherwise. because for as much as he sees through vash, so too does vash see through him — past the blood and skin and sinew, all the way down to the core of him: the beating, traitorous heart that he can never quite successfully convince himself it doesn't exist. it cares too much too quickly, and a part of him hates that.
[ can he, really? because it might seem that just as wolfwood thinks he's seen right through him, vash goes and puts his foot in it, spinning away without a care or thought, the opaque, brainless smile plastered over his face as he plays it dumb; truth from the mouth of fools who know less than they pretend. ]
What'll you give if you can't catch me?
[ easy breezy, vash half sings the words as he carefully shifts to scramble back on his feet; crouching low upon the shadow of the roof, he'd be near invisible were it not for the red of his coat - though right now, the moons are half hidden behind clouds. wolfwood might need to work for his bet. ]
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no subject
I ain't the one runnin'. Maybe you should tell yourself that.
no subject
the dry slide of flint catching is loud enough that vash could almost think he is beside him - standing shoulder to shoulder as vash normally tries to be, or wolfwood half a step behind as he prefers it; he could almost smell the smoke from here as he shifts, idly picking at the worm-nests built under the gaps of the roof tiles. ]
I'm not getting into trouble. 'M just sittin' here, enjoying the breeze...
don't look at the timestamp
I'll believe it when I see it. [ he takes a long drag, flicking ash from the end of the cigarette. ] So, where are you, Spikes?
[ there's nothing stopping wolfwood from looking for vash himself. it wouldn't be the first time, nor would it be the last. but sometimes he thinks he can delude himself into thinking that he has a choice; that if he asks, he will receive, without something coming to bite him in the ass for it later. ]
no subject
his act might fool a lot of people - what's with his constant sunny smiles and the untidy fall of his hair and the wide baby blue eyes - but it never seems to fool wolfwood, seeing right through the facade as though it were nothing more than clear glass. but that doesn't stop vash from trying it, anyway ... especially if the near-silent exhale on the other end of the phone doesn't sound as though wolfwood is about to blow his gasket sky high. ]
Guess! [ vash chirps out cheerfully, swinging his legs where they hang over the sand-clogged edge of the roof. just what does he think this is, hide and seek? ]
no subject
it goes both ways, right, that glass, as much as wolfwood would insist otherwise. because for as much as he sees through vash, so too does vash see through him — past the blood and skin and sinew, all the way down to the core of him: the beating, traitorous heart that he can never quite successfully convince himself it doesn't exist. it cares too much too quickly, and a part of him hates that.
but never enough to really change it. ]
You wanna play a game of Marco Polo, then? Fine.
[ well. he has some idea of where he is. ]
no subject
[ can he, really? because it might seem that just as wolfwood thinks he's seen right through him, vash goes and puts his foot in it, spinning away without a care or thought, the opaque, brainless smile plastered over his face as he plays it dumb; truth from the mouth of fools who know less than they pretend. ]
What'll you give if you can't catch me?
[ easy breezy, vash half sings the words as he carefully shifts to scramble back on his feet; crouching low upon the shadow of the roof, he'd be near invisible were it not for the red of his coat - though right now, the moons are half hidden behind clouds. wolfwood might need to work for his bet. ]