[ 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. ]
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... 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. ]