notabluesbro | 12th Confession [Action]

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12th Confession [Action]

[Time for personal confetti because

~Wolfwood's back~

...Sort of.

Rather, he's smaller. Shorter. Even more scruffy and disorganized than before.

He'd woken up in a forest and spent a good 3 hours raking his mind over just what he was seeing—snow, actual snow. Of course, none of that was important for the meanwhile when he realized he was cold. Holy shit, was it freezing out here. At least whoever left him here gave him some clothes and... a gun in a holster?

Slipping on the way-too-big black jacket, he examines the handgun. Of course, Wolfwood always carried it on him, but... he's eight at the moment, so this information is just going over his head. It's not as though he's never used one, of course. He just never had such a nice holster to go with it!

But what doesn't go over his head is the fact that he has wings. Wings! What the hell is going on here? Where is he? Surely he's not... well, y'know.

He rushes around the dense for a for hours, stumbling and tripping in the groggy morning light, until he finds... ah, there are rooms in this building that aren't used? Maybe if he's sneaky, he can just stay in one of these here. Once that's done with, he wanders around town for a few hours with a ~~stolen~~ jacket sloppy thrown over his old collared shirt. Looking paranoid as he stalks through crowds. All right, Nick. You're in a strange place, but you cannot forget the number one rule: just survive.

Too many people around to steal from the stores. Stomach rumbling. Wait until night, then find a window, a door even, to sneak into.

When cold, black night eventually hits, he lassos the holster around his waist (hey, no more tucking into the side of his pants), under his shirt, and sets out, sneaking into whatever apartment or house he can. Perhaps sorting through your drawers, cabinets, or refrigerators. Hey, you can't expect him to know about all that free stuff, right? Despite him being as quiet as possible, there may be an occasional falling down of something—a pan, perhaps a glass. In case your character is a heavy sleeper. 8|]

[OOC: You can run into him any part of his day listed above! Replies will be from very very obvious journals~! Time and space is kicked often.

He might draw that gun in any robbery attempt, but he won't shoot at anyone. Unless they're trying to kill him. |Db]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[While you're experiencing the magic of couches, have some blankets dropped on your head]

[aasfjblankets!]

These're all for me?

[He curls up with one, wriggling into the cushions.]

S'a nice house, too. You must make a lotta' money, to keep it like this...

Ah, about that.

[Y'know that far too amused look he sometimes gets? Well, Sanji's wearing it again, and he leans over the back of the couch]

Everything's free here. Food automatically restocks, and the houses and apartments are available for anyone who needs 'em.

Your a real awful liar.

[That's not even—]

Oi, haven't we been over this before?

That's 'mpossible.

[He curls himself further into a blanket, frowning.]

Nothin's free. Not like that!

I know it's one fuckin hell of a shock, but I'm not lying.

[A pause] I'll take you by some of the shops tomorrow, if you want. Better to show than tell, anyway.

[His gaze is right back down to downcast, and it seems whatever little sliver of easing the boy out of his bleaker shell once again is stunted.]

...You... get everything for free...

Whatever y'want...?

[There's a desperate, tired sound edging his words.]

[He'd only expressed outright concern when the boy was hurt. This? This is unexpected, and not something Sanji likes to see]

That's right.

.... You alright, Nicholas?

[He hides his eyes with his palms, mouth in something akin to a grimace. He really can't stand it—the images of everything he despised and feared passed through the blacks of his vision.

"If you wanna to live, you gotta work for your shit."]

Why... Why wasn't I... born here...

[Sanji's uncharacteristically slow with moving, but time eventually leads him to settling on couch beside the younger, arms rested on his knees and his gaze locked somewhere far away.

It's not really that simple, after all. They get fed and have places to stay, but beside that? They're just lab rats for the shitheads who trapped them here. Nicholas' age is proof enough.

But he knows this kid's story - some of it. And telling him that is a poor consolation when he's probably been starving half his life. So he says nothing, only turning to look at him from the corner of his eye]

[And Nicholas D. Wolfwood stays like this, for a moment's time, stomach knotting and burning. When it finally settles, he drags a small hand down from his eyes, rested over his nose and mouth.

Thinking. Always thinking, this one.]

Things were s'posed to get better...

[his eyes flood with disdain]

But bad things always go from bad to worse.

[He hums, and pulls out another cigarette]

Get better? How so?

I remember it real good. I remember, they told me that when someone finally chooses you, y'get a chance to have a good family. An' if the people taking you in was already related to you, then you had a real good chance.

[He looks at the cigarette Furrows his brow. Looks away.]

But he hated me.

[He unconsciously grips his sleeve at the thought.]

He always said I was a murderer.

[Nicholas' brow isn't the only one that's furrowing. Who the hell says that to a kid?]

What? [Does he mean his parents...?]

[He draws his knees up, holster falling from his lap and dangling loosely from his arm.]

'Cause mom died, trying to have me. He was always really angry about that.

That's bullshit. [It's the first real spike of anger from Sanji] You can't blame a kid for something beyond their control.

[He looks disbelievingly at Sanji.]

Does that mean... s'not my fault?

[The... the hell. He can't speak for a moment; that's how much a punch in the face that question is]

You really think a baby can murder someone? An infant who can't even think at that age?

Being born doesn't make you a murderer. [still said with some frostiness in his voice not directed at the kid. He directs it at the walls instead] I bet your mom would agree with me.

[a sigh of relief]

...That's good. I was worried that...

[He doesn't really finish the sentence, but it's probably tell-tale on what it would've ended like. A small content look crosses his features.

But it quickly fades into a frowning question:]

You're a murderer when you kill someone on purpose, right?

[A sigh. There's an ugly question. Sanji's been hearing plenty of those recently]

In the strictest sense, yeah. You take someone's life, then you killed them.

But. [he pauses and nearly chews on the filter in his mouth] Sometimes when you don't got a choice, or you got your reasons, or they wanna die... maaah, it's still murder, but maybe without all the negative connotation.

[A shrug. He leans back and ends with:] It just depends. Me killing a guy who's trying to kill me might make me the murderer in his family's eyes, but I call it self-defense.

[He thinks for a moment. You seem to know a lot about this subject—or maybe it's just an adult sort of thing, knowing how death and all that it entails works.

Quite frankly, no one had sat down and actually gave him the time to explain anything like this to him. He'd been to church when forced—knew that killing was a sin. He'd been told that hurting others is wrong by random faceless strangers, despite his upbringing.

And it was all before he was taken by the shoulders by Chapel and told that killing wasn't so bad, if it was done right.]

What if they deserved to die?

Killing's still killing.

...

But I won't say there aren't shitheads out there, just asking for an ass-kicking. Still, you gotta bear the weight of that life if you take it. And be sure what you think is deserving of death isn't something fuckin petty. Death isn't something you play around with.

[You're definitely not talking to a Vash-type]

[He snaps his head toward the man, frowning and making a fist, as if he felt Sanji had unintentionally convicted him of something.]

I ain't gonna bear a life like his!

[He dips his chin, a shadow crossing his face.]

He was a awful person.

You still took his life away from him, didn't ya? [Sanji sounds far from judging, but he's looking little Nicholas in the face]

Just don't forget that, even if you don't feel guilty or might be better off.

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