Here, [ vash is uncomfortably close again, like he doesn't quite know what the acceptable boundaries are; like he has a hard time choosing between two extremes. he always seem to be veering from one to the other like swinging pendulum - or more like a wrecking ball, to be precise, with the distance of his swing only increasing the damage at a later point. their shoulders are almost brushing together - before vash is shifting, side stepping halfway behind the other's shoulder to cut off the gust of wind that swings around the van. the tiny myriad of tinkling sand hitting the metal frame almost sounds like rain, if such a thing ever existed as a concept on this arid planet.
they've been driving all day - the next town is still iles away, too far to see still beyond the horizon - and they've pitched camp for the night to let the engine have a chance to cool down. there is nothing here but sand and the stars that peek through the windworn holes blasted through the rocks overhead, some hundreds of years ago. the air is full of noise like whistling, like the rustling of wings, whenever the air passes through at just the right pitch to have the rocks singing.
before wolfwood could ask. or retort - or do anything else, really, vash is reaching around, pressing something into his hand - almost fumbling with the motion and pulling back as though he is afraid of the repercussions. it's a pack of smokes - his usual brand, even - and not even crumpled with how carefully he must have been keeping it this whole time. ]
Just - Anyway! You might be out before we could get to the next town! So!
[ his hands flutter in front of him, as though he thinks he could physically push the words out, or else pull them back, let the rambling disappear into the ether, before vash just resorts to his usual tactics; an awkward, trailing laugh. ]
Yeah, yeah. [ is it just his ears playing tricks, or is that tone faintly reminiscent of wolfwood's sarcastic tone that he puts on so often?
he must be somewhere quiet - maybe outside. there is certainly no other noise apart from the faint, too-slow echo of his breathing and even fainter whisper of wind. it feels strange to call him like this - to hear the other's voice and not see him in front of him, or else trailing half step behind. an odd sense of presence that isn't actually there. ]
[ that's kind of cute, actually. not that wolfwood would ever admit it, but he catches himself smiling briefly anyway. no one's there to witness it aside from the stars above him and the clouds of worms flitting about. he wonders where exactly vash is—likely on a roof somewhere, maybe, while wolfwood loiters outside the saloon downstairs from the rooms they've been assigned to for the night. ]
Why's it always gotta be me gettin' in trouble, huh? I should be asking you that.
[ ninety-five percent of the time he's in trouble is running after vash anyway. then again, he's stupid enough to let himself get pulled along, so who's the real idiot here? ]
[ sure, nobody is around to bear witness to wolfwood's momentary lapse of judgement, but does that mean that vash is left completely unawares of it? maybe. it's hard to tell with vash, sometimes - and he certainly doesn't give any indication of such as he laughs again, sitting with his legs dangling off the edge of the roof where he is sitting, facing the courtyard and seeing the cast shadows from the saloon and the lit up windows of the rooms. ]
Because!
[ that's not an answer, vash ... but it isn't as though he isn't above running away from a disadvantageous argument, so please let it go, okay? ]
Staying here another night doesn't excuse you from staying put like a good boy, you know?
[ 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...
Well... there is no other way around it. I'll just describe it to you, then!
It's got shaggy fur, kind of like your hair when you forget to cut it. It comes in all sorts of colours, not like the thoma. Grey, brown, black, white ... It can be all mixed colours too. They have sharp teeth and claws and can look really scary, but they travel in packs and loves their family a lot, so they aren't actually so bad, I think!
[ 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. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(almost but not quite;)
they've been driving all day - the next town is still iles away, too far to see still beyond the horizon - and they've pitched camp for the night to let the engine have a chance to cool down. there is nothing here but sand and the stars that peek through the windworn holes blasted through the rocks overhead, some hundreds of years ago. the air is full of noise like whistling, like the rustling of wings, whenever the air passes through at just the right pitch to have the rocks singing.
before wolfwood could ask. or retort - or do anything else, really, vash is reaching around, pressing something into his hand - almost fumbling with the motion and pulling back as though he is afraid of the repercussions. it's a pack of smokes - his usual brand, even - and not even crumpled with how carefully he must have been keeping it this whole time. ]
Just - Anyway! You might be out before we could get to the next town! So!
[ his hands flutter in front of him, as though he thinks he could physically push the words out, or else pull them back, let the rambling disappear into the ether, before vash just resorts to his usual tactics; an awkward, trailing laugh. ]
@tfln overflow;
Yeah, yeah. [ is it just his ears playing tricks, or is that tone faintly reminiscent of wolfwood's sarcastic tone that he puts on so often?
he must be somewhere quiet - maybe outside. there is certainly no other noise apart from the faint, too-slow echo of his breathing and even fainter whisper of wind. it feels strange to call him like this - to hear the other's voice and not see him in front of him, or else trailing half step behind. an odd sense of presence that isn't actually there. ]
Not getting into any trouble, I hope?
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Why's it always gotta be me gettin' in trouble, huh? I should be asking you that.
[ ninety-five percent of the time he's in trouble is running after vash anyway. then again, he's stupid enough to let himself get pulled along, so who's the real idiot here? ]
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Because!
[ that's not an answer, vash ... but it isn't as though he isn't above running away from a disadvantageous argument, so please let it go, okay? ]
Staying here another night doesn't excuse you from staying put like a good boy, you know?
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I ain't the one runnin'. Maybe you should tell yourself that.
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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...
im sorry
This is what I'm talking about!
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that's a wolf?
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It fits, right?
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Wolves are so cool!
[ is he just kidding or does he mean this? who knows ]
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i didn't say anything
[ guys.... it's a picture. ]
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Nobody asks you why your face looks the way it is, no?
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just never seen anythin like it before
it's hard to imagine i guess
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It's got shaggy fur, kind of like your hair when you forget to cut it. It comes in all sorts of colours, not like the thoma. Grey, brown, black, white ... It can be all mixed colours too. They have sharp teeth and claws and can look really scary, but they travel in packs and loves their family a lot, so they aren't actually so bad, I think!
1/2
shaggy hair ✅
looks scary ✅
loves their family a lot ✅ ]
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and you think that fits
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Of course! Don't you think so?
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. ]
don't look at the timestamp pt 2
[ damn. ]
could be worse i guess
shh
I'm sorry! :-)
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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? ]
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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. ]
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who said im annoyed
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Because I called you an animal?
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a wolf's not too bad i guess
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[ 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. ]
i did this on my phone ur welcome
this is you
I love u
What is that?? A fat tomas?
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you'll hurt his feelings
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Technically .... myself?
But I am really sorry!!!