deercountry | [ open ] and between the wasteland and the sky

[Vash awakens to the roar of a sea of machines. He's strung up by his one arm, head lolled to the side from the unnatural angle that entails, and without his coat, the patchwork of scars throughout his body is clearly visible, metal bars holding flesh and bones together in some places. It's a body that has been through a great deal, and even now it bleeds, sickly green rivulets from a thousand little cuts left to drip.

He comes to consciousness slowly, struck dazed by the overwhelming blood pollution suffocating the place, and awareness does not immediately come with lucidity. The machines and the blood and the sight of bodies everywhere around him, alive or not, stir up a terror from a century and a half past, and all he can think is this is it, this is the moment that he is discovered to be something other than human, something to be strapped up to machines and poked and prodded until he too is a mass of wounds and tumors, left to slowly expire by degrees. His breathing quickens in time with the beating of his chest, he panics and struggles and kicks at whoever happens to be approaching, and when that doesn't deter them, he starts screaming one phrase, over and over--]

--Kill me!

[It's after he's released from his own bonds that Vash comes back to his senses. Trench has allowed him to live quietly for a few months, and he's kept to himself in that little room at the inn, where the owner does not ask questions and allows him board as long as he continues to do the building's chores, but he has heard whispers of the things that happen.

He'd struggled with the notion of getting involved, thinking himself too monstrous, too dangerous to do anything more than keep himself apart. He had not been the Humanoid Typhoon for nothing; there was a city of rubble and a hole in a moon as testament to what he is capable of, and what he can never allow to happen again.

The festival had only convinced him further that it was better if he stayed away from others in general, knowing his body to already have been warped against his will and finding his mind too easily following the same. And yet ... he has already bled, and no harm has come to anyone. He finds, to the contrary, his own blood has the fragrance of desert blooms, soothing away the hardest edges of fear and pain in the others. He perhaps is more incautious with it than he ought to be, paying no heed to anything that aches or burns as he goes about releasing others' bonds, fending off Zealots with a borrowed nail gun he picked up off one of the racks. And if his breathing is a little heavy when he kneels at your side, when he offers you his shoulder, surely there is nothing to worry about.]

Don't worry, it's going to be alright.

[He smiles as though he believes it. He smiles as though he has been your friend for years, and he only stumbles a little as his blood splashes over your bare feet.]

Edited 2022-11-06 23:29 (UTC)

[ Chizuru has lost all sense of time and place. It feels like she's been here for an eternity, though it's probably not the case - just the experience by itself making it feel like so much longer, especially when combined with the way her body feels so heavy in this place, and the injuries only making it worse.

Because the girl does look like she's doing really badly. Her skin is pale, and though Vash has at least released her from her bonds already, it doesn't seem like the girl is about to stand up on her own legs. She just sits there, half-crumbled on the ground.

At least the source of her lack of energy is probably pretty apparent, since there's a wound on the lower half of her torso, not super big, but cut open wide enough that there's just a gaping hollow inside of nothing where there definitely should have been one or two organs. And yet it doesn't seem like the girl is dying - instead Chizuru mostly just looks really tired.

Especially in the way she turns her head towards Vash very, very slowly, like it takes her everything just to move a tiny bit. ]

.. you're hurt.

[ It's all she slowly manages to say. You know, as if she isn't hurt as well, and probably worse off too. But she can still see the way blood spills on his end too, landing on her, carrying an odd but kind of nice scent. ]

[There is certainly something alarming about looking at a hollow with no organs--but perhaps it is the fact that she is lucid, her eyes not clouding over with that glaze that precedes death, that keeps him from panic. Distantly, a part of his mind notes that a human could not survive such a state. She is something like him, humanlike in appearance but distinctly otherwise. Some time later, he'll be able to wonder what.

In the meantime, Vash simply shakes his head.]

I'm alright. [Read: he's conscious and can still move, which is Fine by Vash standards] Can you stand?

[ Usually she would protest the first part of what he's saying a little more. Because if he's hurt like this - then he clearly can't be alright, and Chizuru has met just a few too many men in her life who tend to say they're alright when they clearly aren't to not be suspicious of Vash's current state.

.. but it's not really the situation for it, huh. They might not have the time for it. Maybe. Chizuru's sense of time has been completely messed up by the situation she's stuck in, but something does tell her that they shouldn't linger here. That if she doesn't get away from this place now, she may be stuck like this forever.

So she slowly shakes her head, rather than questioning the state of a stranger when he seems to be trying to provide her such kindness here. ]

No.. [ She hasn't tried, but on the other hand, Chizuru's body feels so limp even to the girl herself that she can already know, even without attempting to stand. ] I.. um..

[ She slowly breathes in. Even though the girl doesn't look like she's dying, she certainly doesn't seem to have a whole lot of energy. ]

Even just.. moving a little bit. T-That feels.. hard. [ She admits, honest about her condition. It's the least she could do if he's truly trying to help her. ]

[Ten thousand years of near invulnerability. Ten thousand years of every insult to the flesh and bone and spirit sloughed off contemptuously to leave a body still frozen perfectly in time, inviolate and incorruptible.

Pain is nothing. She has known worse pain than this. It is the temerity that vexes her most, the utter and unmitigated gall of these people to put their hands upon her in violence and to disassemble her like a fatted calf on a ritual altar. It is the fact of her weakness, of her fragility, of her smallness-

She is unrecognizable when a familiar voice intrudes on her incoherent, bloodless seething, the furiously burning outrage at her core more of what's kept her heart beating than anything else. She is a Lyctor. Even at her most debased, she can take more, give more, and they took from her in buckets and bundles. The inverted Y incision visible through the rent front of her nightshirt is proof of that, as is the green and reeking blood that soaks her head to toe. Her nose is broken badly, so she breathes through her mouth, her eyes swollen to slits. She slumps into his shoulder by necessity, not choice, once he's disconnected her from the net of tubing and the straps to the elevated table they left her on.]

No, it won't.

[She hisses like a dying radiator, digging the fractured fingers of her left hand into the back of his jacket, and this is how he'll know her: no one but the Saint of Woe could manage to still sound so pettish in the midst of all of this.]

Not when I am finished.

[There is a certain level of bitter, twisted irony. One of their earliest conversations, she had said nobody is going to just tell you they intend to abduct you for sinister ends, are they? She'd tried to warn him against being too trusting, that even she was someone who preferred to be on the end committing the sinister ends as often as possible -- all the while staying in a space where he was easily vulnerable every night, and remained unharmed the entire time.

To see anyone in such a horrifying state would steal the breath from Vash's lungs, but it's when he hears that voice that he really freezes, goes stiff-silent. For the first time she's known him, the smile fades entirely, for a good ten seconds. Drips of salty water splash on her hand before he smiles through it again, even as his own blood mingles with hers--it smells of desert flowers and feels cool against her skin like aloe.]

Don't worry about that right now. [he half-whispers, voice soft and gentle, as though he were trying to urge an ill child to sleep. he can try to talk her out of some kind of revenge scheme later. when she can sit upright and breathe through her nose and focus her vision.]

Let's escape first. Can you hold onto me?

[You've gotten more of them, haven't you? Scars, of course. The price paid for mercy. For kindness. (For Rem's memory) Why won't you ever learn from them?

It plays over in his mind the longer he spends in this awful place, that last interaction. The suffering in every corner here would only further convince Knives he was right about humanity, that there was nothing there still worth saving. And yet, for all they've twisted themselves into something monstrous, Vash cannot bring himself to simply discard their lives because they are doing harm. He cannot help but think they must be reachable in some way, that there must be reason behind their cruelty--as those assassins that had come after him had.

So as he fights his way out with his borrowed nailgun, he still takes care not to wound too severely, to avoid any lethal spots. Perhaps it's foolish of him; there are fresh wounds from his encounters, seeping green into one of the red jumpsuits he'd found lying around to cover himself with. Even so, he persists. And once in a while -- that means he gets in the way when another Sleeper seeks to exact retribution on their captors, as well.

Maybe you've had a long and difficult battle, or maybe you've just managed to get the drop on one of the zealots, but either way, you're about to strike the finishing blow when a voice calls out from behind:]

No, don't!

Edited 2022-11-07 01:03 (UTC)

[You've been training again! Look at yourself! look at himself. those burns. the price he was willing to pay to achieve that dream he'd held onto so tightly. I told you to give up. So just stop already. You can't do it-

those memories are easy to play in his head. he'll never forget them, each one as clear as crystal. being in this damn place has given him plenty of time to think, but without the end goal of his ambitions anywhere around. it's maddening, knowing you have one objective, focusing so hard upon it your life itself revolves about it as a focal point, can never happen. what had once given him the drive to live has been stripped away, leaving little for him to grasp onto. cast into the emptiness without focus, without ending, it's no wonder dabi's less than merciful towards these idiots.

ironic, being captured after being captured. do these idiots even know the reality here? mah... the only reality they need to worry about now is how utterly flammable they are. everything's on fire. blue flames scorching the area around him, turning the floor black and washing over a few zealots. they only last a second or two before the flames leave behind charred husks that crumble away above the burning remains. a painful lesson: be careful what you take.

dabi stomps down atop the remaining one, one hand resting by his side, the other draping his forearm across his bent knee as he leans forward and presses his foot onto the man's back. flames already lick out beneath his fingers, as if eager to descend and devour.]

Worthless. You're nothing but kindling.

[his scarred lips curve up slightly in a smirk, fire spiting from the tips of dabi's-]

Hm?

[a shout arrests him. turquoise eyes glance up, noticing a strange-looking man in red. is that... paint? it's green. no, it's not paint. that looks like blood. but it's green... ah, another one of the sleepers who was captured.]

Ya look like shit. Whatcha want?

[His eyes go somewhat wide when the two men go up in black flames, dancing upon his fingers like nothing. It reminds him of snatches of horrifying memory, his own body transforming against his will, into a weapon of mass destruction. Of the hole carved into the Fifth Moon that peered down at him like an angry eye afterward. The flames dance across his flesh and Vash does not in that first moment see the burn scars underneath, and he is for a singular moment afraid, though not for himself. For a moment he thinks of Legato -- I could kill every single person within fifty yards of here within two seconds.

How many people could this man kill in a moment, if he wanted to? It's strange; he's grown used to grappling with the potential for monstrosity living in his skin, but in the last 150 years, there has been fewer than he would need to count on one hand that could pose a danger anywhere near his own level. Vash steadies his resolve after a stunned moment. Then:]

Don't kill him. [he repeats, gesturing toward the final unconscious zealot] You've already won.

[dabi narrows his eyes at the other man. he looks strange. the garish red jumpsuit doesn't appear at all to be something commonly worn around here; he's not seen that color so far at least. but the cuts and wounds that bleed across the suit allow for a few small peeks at the figure within the closer the man gets. it's the green blood that makes him take a more scrutinizing look at the blonde, not sure if he's a human or something else that needs to be reduced to ashes. dabi's not survived this long by trusting another person. better dead than dangerous. to him.

but he does recognize that look in his eyes. the glassy stare and half-hung mouth of a man horrified by what he's seen and captured for a moment in the ensnarement of past memories. someone's seen a burning death before, hasn't he...

the stun breaks a moment later and the man regains his resolve. enough to give him a damn order. the villain's gaze doesn't change a beat at the gesture and without breaking their eyes, fire blasts downward from his leg, flooding the hallway with scorching blue flames. the man below him scalds to a blackened skeleton in two seconds, the walls almost threatening to boil from the intensity of the fire pouring down them.]

Ya don't get it, do ya. [dabi steps off the burning skeleton and walks towards vash, backlit by the flames behind him and his black jumpsuit clashing with vash's red.] It ain't about winnin. It's about survivin. Leave that one alive, and he'll wake up and bring in more. And odds are, those reinforcements won't fare any better than those guys.

[he tosses a thumb over his shoulder in indication.]

Leavin him alive just means ya gonna get a lot more of them killed later.

[The last zealot goes up in flames, and Vash grits his teeth, his one hand clenched into a fist at his side. He doesn't look much of a threat injured and with one missing arm, but there's genuine anger in his expression. Vash isn't a fool; he knows that these are not harmless innocents. And yet, the man who had been under Dabi's heel was unconscious, defenseless. There was no need.]

You don't have to kill any of them to survive! With a power like that, you could throw up a wall of flame behind you and escape with no trouble! This wasn't survival, it was just revenge.

[he's seen genuine anger before. it's never been an emotion he really cares about. not the first time it's aimed at him over his actions. amusing thing about unconscious and defenseless? a minute or so ago, he hadn't been. but rather attempting to attack and restrain. after all, dabi was among those who'd been captured and that alone is a threat to his safety and life. it's not his "fault" they bit off more than they could chew with him. but vash is right. there was no need.

but there was plenty of want.]

Thanks for pointin out the obvious. Ya wanna stand there and preach at me, or ya wanna escape?

[because one of them has a far better chance of landing vash with more injuries and a nice night's sleep back in the cell he probably woke up in like the rest of them.]

[The obvious, he says, as though he didn't just make an excuse about survival. Vash's nails dig into his hand in frustration. This isn't his planet. These aren't the humans Rem gave her life to save. And yet, it still hurts. There is so much pain and grief and cruelty in the world already. If there was the possibility to avoid adding to it...Vash has always believed that it's worth doing, even when it's hard. The patchwork of scars on his own body are testament to what he's suffered for his mercy, but it's worth it, in his mind.]

Why kill someone who can't fight anymore? Revenge doesn't undo what you've suffered. It won't bring you peace. It just adds more corpses to this awful place.

[Apparently he's voting for "preach" ...]

[contrary to vash, the patchwork of scars all over dabi's body are a testament of something far worse than mercy. they're part of the reason why he doesn't give a shit about burning his captors to a crisp, and further reason why he walks right past vash without waiting or him to make his decision. something about him haunts a mixture of stalking forward and the wisp of smoke as he moves, bringing with him the scent of fire and burnt. the blonde prisoner is free to come with him if he wants or stand there and keep rattling his words to dabi's back as he moves.]

Makes me feel better. [delivered in a mixture of callous amusement and wry bluntness.] Not everyone wants peace.

[Vash does eventually follow, when the man ignores him to walk ahead. Even so, the walk isn't in silence. Once he's caught up, he presses:]

Did it? [In the time it's taken for him to catch up, it's properly sunk in that the wounds on the man's body are old.]

Their pain ended in a moment. But yours continues. Am I wrong?

[Judging by the severity of those scars, the ruined skin held together by staples...he'd guess there wouldn't enough zealots in ten farms to balance the scales. In a hundred. A thousand.]

Edited 2022-12-05 07:23 (UTC)

[dabi goes to slip his hands in his pockets, only to find there are none in this jumpsuit. damn. that's kind of uncomfortable actually. he leaves his arms by his side, listening to some of the commotion echoing through other tunnels. well, since he's stuck with a damn pacifist, guess if some other zealots come around for him (them) he'll be the one dealing with them.

the blonde catches up to him and dabi's expression flattens at the question.]

Yep. [it felt pretty damn good to kill someone who threatened him. the other question, however, earns a brief exhale of wry amusement.] Don't play psychoanalyst with me, idiot. I ain't someone ya wanna get in my head.

[he reaches up and thumbs at the staples holding the patch of skin under his eye.]

Lost the ability to feel pain a long time ago.

[do therapists even exist on gunsmoke, itisamystery dot jpg.]

That's not what I mean.

[Sure, the physical wounds are one thing. If he's lost the ability to feel pain outright, then they must be even more severe than he thought--but that's not the point. It's the horror of it, the suffering, that lingers. The fear, the pain. Not everyone wants peace. He understands that only too well--he has spent decades upon decades in pursuit of Knives, after all. But that's also why he can't let it go. Even if Knives were to eradicate all humanity, it wouldn't erase what happened to Tesla. It wouldn't ease that sense of rage and despair that it could've been them, that the woman who protected and raised them had been involved. Vash knows he cannot reach him, and that it falls to him to end things, for the sake of everyone Rem died to protect, because he is the only one who can. But wounds like that are not satisfied by blood. It is at best a knife one can drive into their soul, to remind themselves they are alive, as they continue to suffer.

He shakes his head.]

You make it sound as though you are simply too dangerous to try to understand. In my experience, people like that want to be understood the most.

[probably one or two self-proclaimed ones. with ulterior motives...]

Sure it isn't.

[he's not the first person to look at dabi and think "oh you poor thing" and reach out in some attempt to understand. the few times it's happened have all started the same way: commenting on his scars and either wondering if they still hurt or why he has them in the first place. begin with the physical and then think it's some masterful segue to transition into the emotional and mental. obviously someone with this kind of physical damage has suffered. the scent of smoke and burning has been around dabi so much, it's saturated his skin and flesh, a lingering hint eternally that can only be covered up so much with something else. the way vash talks right now suggests that he's experienced something similar, at least in a way that makes him think he can relate or understand. perhaps he can; dabi has no way of proving otherwise. but the thing is, reaching someone only works if there's a reception. an opening in a wall, a path across a chasm. neither of which the villain possesses for other people anymore.

too far gone for something as pleasant as reaching to succeed. after all, reaching and understanding like this are simply two words that ultimately end in an attempt to change. and he has no intention of doing so.

stop it, touya.

dabi's had enough of other people telling him to stop.]

Nah. It ain't that. I don't need ya to waste your time. Just like what happened back there.

[in reference to the late zealot vash tried to save a couple minutes ago. wasted breath. wasted effort. is he too "dangerous" to understand? probably not. question is, if vash did learn about him, dabi's already pegged him for the kind of person to follow his "i understand" with a self-important denying "but" afterwards.]

[Vash doesn't think it was a waste of time, though. He's unhappy that Dabi didn't listen, of course, and he's disappointed he didn't react in time to pull the man out of the way regardless of Dabi's choice, but he'd never consider it a waste of time to have tried to convince him otherwise.

But that line of argument probably would be a waste of time. Instead, he takes a different tack:]

If that's the case, why keep walking with me?

[It might seem like a non-sequitur, on its face. But from the other man's point of view, Vash's presence must be a hindrance at best--injured, missing an arm, and unwilling to fight to kill. Even in his irritation in being "preached at", he hadn't attacked Vash, nor tried to get rid of him since, despite his pointed questions.]

I can't step through flames any more than those people can.

Edited 2022-12-06 00:11 (UTC)

[in retrospect, perhaps it wasn't a known waste of time on vash's part, but at the same time, does the blonde really think someone who'd murder without an issue would be open to sitting down for a nice chat about why what he's doing is wrong? dabi doesn't know for sure that's what this guy would do, but considering his words and actions, highly suspects it.

the question, however, earns a quiet drone from the villain, less thoughtful and more zoned.]

Ya ain't tried to kill me yet.

[the other reason being dabi tends to align with other sleepers merely as a middle finger show to the "gods" that kidnapped them into this world. his loyalty is to himself, but given a choice, he'll extend it to people from his own world, and then closer companions who've earned it, and then finally other sleepers if it comes down to choosing between them or whatever shit trench is dumping on them. provided they're worth his time and effort. at the moment, despite his pacifism, vash is still keeping pace with dabi and isn't interfering with him, so he has little reason to abandon him or harm him.

the villain's mouth curves in a wry smirk just at the corner.]

Then don't get in front of me when we encounter another buncha idiot.

[dabi pauses at the T intersection of hallways and pokes his head out to glance left and right down the new hall, checking to see if it's clear, before heading out into it.]

[Vash really does think that, is the thing. Or, well, not quite sitting down for a chat with tea and biscuits, but he genuinely believes most people who are driven to murder can be reasoned with. Next time, Vash will be more prepared.]

Well, I can certainly promise the first won't happen, but I make no guarantees on the second.

[He even wears a big dumb grin at that one, like he's told a very funny joke. Unfortunately for Dabi's blood pressure he is 100% serious, he has dodged submachine gunfire for his principles and weird blue-black hellfire is no different.]

Edited 2022-12-06 01:19 (UTC)

[as much as he'd want to chalk it up to naivety, something about this guy doesn't imply that at all. so he'll pin it on stupid. main issue is reasoning with someone who doesn't want to be reasoned with. outside of "reasoning" being "agreeing" on his drive.]

Then you'll die.

[vash gets a flat response for his grin, also equally as serious despite his blase tone. he has no qualms with filling the entire hallway with fire front and back if he has to. but then again, at best he'll simply be aiming at the person vash is trying to get in the way of. it'll be up to the blonde-haired ladybug to take it or dodge.]

Any idea why these idiots captured us?

[He might come upon a Sleeper clad in a stolen Cenobite's robe made for a slighter figure, as its textured leather sits awkwardly on his robust frame. He stands over a kneeling neophyte, given how the smaller figure shows fewer mutilations (grommet-style piercings in the upper shell of their ears as well as the lobes), the Sleeper armed with a high-tech injector of some kind, loaded with a phial of green-tinged Blood, holding the needle-tip to the neophyte's forehead.]

[The Sleeper's eyes, burning red with the pupils of a cat or a serpent, tick toward Vash.]

And why should I not?

[He asks this calmly, even with a note of amusement as a flicker of a sadistic smirk flickers across his handsome face.]

[The syringe gun draws a cringe when he sees it pressed up against the zealot's forehead. The report on Tesla did not include the details of what tools were used in the experiments on her, but it's easy to picture the injector as among them now; he has to push down that swell of anxiety and fear. But he has not seen the people operating this horrible place turn on each other like this, and so Vash has to wonder if that outfit isn't stolen, especially with how poorly it fits.]

You already have your freedom, don't you? It's a waste of time to chase after revenge in here. Making them suffer won't undo the pain you've suffered here.

[He's running off an assumption, admittedly. His own sense of mercy may well come back to bite him here, if the other man is not a Sleeper after all.]

[ open ] and between the wasteland and the sky

desperado - open to one; cw blood,panic, ref to unethical experimentation & death by medical neglect

scars - OTA; cw: blood, injury

cw: gore, organ removal

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cw: gore, organ removal, mercymorn

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diablo - OTA; blood zealots (cw: blood, injury; themes related to mercy vs violent retribution)

hope you don't mind me crashing into this

not at all! sorry for the huge delay, november was lowkey a mess for me lol

it's the holidays and year end. tis the time for life to fuck people up.

legit lol. also fyi he's not wearing his red coat but a farm jumpsuit from the old event description

ah! sorry, i was going off your initial prompt, which mentioned a red jumpsuit he found.

oh whoops ... i could not read in november apparently lol.

haha, i knew it wasn't his normal awesome red coat at least?

hehe yes. i did not want to destroy it so it did not come with 8D

i think their possessions reform if they die? (my take at least.)

oh i meant more it ripping from all the torture-y stuff lol, not even a death

oh from the zealots and stuff. gotcha.

haha yeah i'm not planning to do a death plot for a while i think

ngl i'm with you on that one. saving it for something more impacting.

fuck yeah

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[CW: Weird science, menace, syringe gun mentioned]

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