wнen тнe мoυnтaιn тoυcнeѕ тнe valley. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
midvalley) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
pullmeoutalive2014-06-27 11:45 pm
midvalley) wrote in pullmeoutalive2014-06-27 11:45 pm
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[ Wolfwood doesn't know how much is luck and how much is miracle, but while trudging through the desert (well, most of the planet is desert) with no other destination than "away," they're rescued by Vash's old friends. He has no idea what Midvalley thought about the whole thing, about the sight of all that lost technology in working condition, or even about all these people who loved and respected Vash. There hadn't really been time to ask.
... Not that Wolfwood was overly concerned with his opinion. The Player, after all, had merely been a tool in the grand scheme of things, and he had been a surprisingly effective ally during their escape. The priest had fully expected the man to abandon him and Vash to their own fates, abscond and escape on his own the second Wolfwood let him leave. And the Punisher had, in fact, given him ample opportunity to just that.
But he... didn't. He stayed. He helped. And when Wolfwood was skewered by one of the Crimsonnail's fucking actual nails, the Player didn't take advantage of the situation. Midvalley didn't just shoot him in the head and kill Vash while they were vulnerable -- he helped. And suddenly Wolfwood is finding that he might actually just-- respect the Hornfreak. Maybe. A little.
Fucking stupid to trust a Gung-Ho Gun, though, former or not. Wolfwood doesn't know the nature of Midvalley's intentions, or even his recruitment; and he also doesn't know what possessed him to tell the other man why he joined up. Blood loss, probably. He blames the blood loss.
It's some time past midnight, a couple of days since their narrow escape, and they've taken all three of them back to the Ship Vash once called home. The man is just starting to recover from weeks and weeks of malnourishment and battling Legato. And Wolfwood suspects Midvalley could use the reprieve, as well; being locked in a small, dark cell for who the fuck knows how long, tortured to his very limits--
... Yeah. The preacher feels bad for the guy. (And feels a twinge of respect, considering Midvalley had helped him face down Legato, when he could've ran hard and far in the other direction.)
He can't sleep. He's having his Nightmares again, and Wolfwood knows he'll need to leave soon -- probably tomorrow, even. He knows Master C has his eyes set on the orphanage, and even if it's an obvious trap, Wolfwood can't let the man do any more damage than he already has. He owes it to his former brothers and sisters to keep them safe, even if it's his fault they're in danger.
Wandering the silent halls, a cigarette perched between his lips, he pauses when he hears-- music? A piano? It's damn good whatever it is, though Wolfwood is by no means an expert. He follows the sound, and when he arrives at its source, he's hardly surprised. And even if the Player probably heard him approaching from ten halls over, he still stands in the entranceway to avoid interrupting, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. ]
... Not that Wolfwood was overly concerned with his opinion. The Player, after all, had merely been a tool in the grand scheme of things, and he had been a surprisingly effective ally during their escape. The priest had fully expected the man to abandon him and Vash to their own fates, abscond and escape on his own the second Wolfwood let him leave. And the Punisher had, in fact, given him ample opportunity to just that.
But he... didn't. He stayed. He helped. And when Wolfwood was skewered by one of the Crimsonnail's fucking actual nails, the Player didn't take advantage of the situation. Midvalley didn't just shoot him in the head and kill Vash while they were vulnerable -- he helped. And suddenly Wolfwood is finding that he might actually just-- respect the Hornfreak. Maybe. A little.
Fucking stupid to trust a Gung-Ho Gun, though, former or not. Wolfwood doesn't know the nature of Midvalley's intentions, or even his recruitment; and he also doesn't know what possessed him to tell the other man why he joined up. Blood loss, probably. He blames the blood loss.
It's some time past midnight, a couple of days since their narrow escape, and they've taken all three of them back to the Ship Vash once called home. The man is just starting to recover from weeks and weeks of malnourishment and battling Legato. And Wolfwood suspects Midvalley could use the reprieve, as well; being locked in a small, dark cell for who the fuck knows how long, tortured to his very limits--
... Yeah. The preacher feels bad for the guy. (And feels a twinge of respect, considering Midvalley had helped him face down Legato, when he could've ran hard and far in the other direction.)
He can't sleep. He's having his Nightmares again, and Wolfwood knows he'll need to leave soon -- probably tomorrow, even. He knows Master C has his eyes set on the orphanage, and even if it's an obvious trap, Wolfwood can't let the man do any more damage than he already has. He owes it to his former brothers and sisters to keep them safe, even if it's his fault they're in danger.
Wandering the silent halls, a cigarette perched between his lips, he pauses when he hears-- music? A piano? It's damn good whatever it is, though Wolfwood is by no means an expert. He follows the sound, and when he arrives at its source, he's hardly surprised. And even if the Player probably heard him approaching from ten halls over, he still stands in the entranceway to avoid interrupting, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. ]
[ For his own part, the Hornfreak is looking much better. A shower and a haircut and a fresh change of clothes will do wonders for a guy- especially one that's spent his last few months imprisoned and tortured. He'd taken to wandering around the ship, too fascinated to sleep, when he found the piano.
It's been a damn long time since Midvalley has seen a piano. He couldn't help himself- he sat down and started tinkering away, improvising around snippets of an old, old song from Earth he could barely remember the name of anymore.
Even when Wolfwood wanders in, he keeps playing for a bit, before finally letting the song taper off. ]
Enjoy the show, preacher?
It's been a damn long time since Midvalley has seen a piano. He couldn't help himself- he sat down and started tinkering away, improvising around snippets of an old, old song from Earth he could barely remember the name of anymore.
Even when Wolfwood wanders in, he keeps playing for a bit, before finally letting the song taper off. ]
Enjoy the show, preacher?
Eh. It was alright.
[ what a troll.
Hands in his pockets, he finally pads further into the room, his usual suit swapped for something loose-fitting to sleep in with a cardigan thrown over his shirt (because living most of his life in a desert means the ship is basically freezing). ]
Havin' a late night, Player?
[ what a troll.
Hands in his pockets, he finally pads further into the room, his usual suit swapped for something loose-fitting to sleep in with a cardigan thrown over his shirt (because living most of his life in a desert means the ship is basically freezing). ]
Havin' a late night, Player?
[ Wow. Still no respect for the arts.
Midvalley is dressed in a similar manner- loose-fitting clothes and a sweater. He continues to idly tinker away on the piano was Wolfwood enters the room ]
I could ask you the same question. [ but he gives sort of a half-shrug as he's playing ] Too much stuff happening, I guess. Couldn't really sleep.
Midvalley is dressed in a similar manner- loose-fitting clothes and a sweater. He continues to idly tinker away on the piano was Wolfwood enters the room ]
I could ask you the same question. [ but he gives sort of a half-shrug as he's playing ] Too much stuff happening, I guess. Couldn't really sleep.
[ A grunt is his only reply for a while, but then he comes to lean a hip against the piano. (He wonders if the people aboard the ship scavenged it from the dust, or if it had been here all along? Someone's luggage, maybe. Someone who thought it important enough to bring on an interstellar journey.)
He gives Midvalley a once over, notes that he's looking a lot less shitty since their escape. Better. More like the man he knew, who once nearly killed him, blinded him, pointed a gun at his face.
Happy memories. Good times. ]
You doin' okay? [ Not that he cares. Because of course he doesn't. Not really. He's only asking because-- ] Haven't had time to babysit you. Make sure you're keepin' outta trouble.
He gives Midvalley a once over, notes that he's looking a lot less shitty since their escape. Better. More like the man he knew, who once nearly killed him, blinded him, pointed a gun at his face.
Happy memories. Good times. ]
You doin' okay? [ Not that he cares. Because of course he doesn't. Not really. He's only asking because-- ] Haven't had time to babysit you. Make sure you're keepin' outta trouble.
[ Another grunt, and he doesn't bother disguising the way he examines Modvalley, like he's looking for tells. ]
You gonna stick around here? Or are you headin' out as soon as you're well enough?
You gonna stick around here? Or are you headin' out as soon as you're well enough?
[ Wolfwood shrugs a shoulder, his free hand taking the cigarette from his lips to tap the spent ash onto the floor. ]
What can I say, Hornfreak? You got a history of betrayal.
[ says the double reverse quadruple agent. ]
What can I say, Hornfreak? You got a history of betrayal.
[ says the double reverse quadruple agent. ]
[ He shrugs a shoulder again, though his gaze doesn't lose any of its intensity. ]
Don't know where your loyalties lie, Player, except with yourself. Just tryin' to see which way you might swing if no one's keepin' you in check.
Don't know where your loyalties lie, Player, except with yourself. Just tryin' to see which way you might swing if no one's keepin' you in check.
[ It's a this point that he stops playing the piano, closing the fall over the keys and turning to fully face the preacher ]
If this would have happened about six months ago, I would have been long gone. I'll admit that. I never asked to be a part of any of this.
But right now, where have I got to go? There's no living in those ruined places the Ark left behind, and anything up ahead is just Knives' next target. I don't have a whole lot of choices here, and if it's between dying alone out there somewhere or dying while giving that freak one final "fuck you", I'll take the latter, thanks. I'm on borrowed time as it is. Might as well make the best of it.
If this would have happened about six months ago, I would have been long gone. I'll admit that. I never asked to be a part of any of this.
But right now, where have I got to go? There's no living in those ruined places the Ark left behind, and anything up ahead is just Knives' next target. I don't have a whole lot of choices here, and if it's between dying alone out there somewhere or dying while giving that freak one final "fuck you", I'll take the latter, thanks. I'm on borrowed time as it is. Might as well make the best of it.
And what about after that? Say the idiot manages to take down Knives, and the world is slightly less shitty. What're you plannin' on doin' then?
[ Wolfwood lets those words sink in, observing the Player all the while, as though trying to see through him. Paranoid, maybe; but the Hornfreak was an assassin, recruited by Knives just like the Eye of Michael was. No telling what kind of fucked up shit the guy did to garner Knives' attention.
Didn't matter now, though. Couldn't turn down help, regardless of the form it came in.
It helped that the Player wasn't as much of a shitstain as he used to think he was. So at length, he nods, takes the cigarette to tap out more ash. ]
You willin' to do me another favor?
Didn't matter now, though. Couldn't turn down help, regardless of the form it came in.
It helped that the Player wasn't as much of a shitstain as he used to think he was. So at length, he nods, takes the cigarette to tap out more ash. ]
You willin' to do me another favor?
Think you can stomach babysittin' the spiky-headed idiot?
[ He exhales a plume of smoke up toward the ceiling. ]
Somethin' like that. Got some shit I need to take care of.
Somethin' like that. Got some shit I need to take care of.
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