Nicholas D. Wolfwood (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
notabluesbro) wrote2011-01-12 01:11 pm
notabluesbro) wrote2011-01-12 01:11 pm
Entry tags:
15th Confession [Action/Emo]
[Well, things were better. Meryl was back, after all, and he was relieved to know it.
But... Wolfwood always has been a thinker. And since the incident with Legato and Kaori, he's unable to find solace in much. Did he really do what was right? He—he tried what he could to do what Vash tried to force into his head: tried to find the route where no one died. But in order to do that, he had to become some sort of shitty dog in Legato's shadow. He knew the son-of-a-bitch hoped for it, planned for it, loved every second of tugging that leash.
He's avoided any real talking with anyone, really. Stayed in the apartment, avoided any real contact with Vash, did the usual Wolfwood trait of solitude: shutting yourself away from people when you have a thought that won't let you go. He'll bounce back from it, he surmises. Things will clear up for him later. He has to force himself to think that, in the end, it won't impact him. But still...
"Tell Legato that Rem was wrong—tell him that there is no worth in people, or in the illusion of peace."
"... whether that's true or not, you're worth something right now, okay? You don't ... You don't have to be useful by some guy's definition to be important."]
[Wolfwood's out and about today, albeit the shade around him suggests he's not much for enjoying the day, whether he means to look that way or not. Right now, he's frustrated with himself. And it shows. He decides to spend a few hours at the battle dome—takes his pent-up aggravations out on imaginary evils. He's not going to bother masking his weapon from anyone, because really? It's almost starting to feel like his trying to hide that part of him from this place. Every shot is precise and deadly. Mechanical and automatic. All what he learned, years ago, all denying the basic fundamentals of Vash's way of life. But he feels it, in his fingertips. He hesitates so minutely that he KNOWS he's doing it, regardless of how smooth his motions are.
...Dammit all.
Then he goes by the clinic, to see if Kaori's still there. She should be, he's thinking. But if she's not, then maybe that's even better. Maybe it means she was healed up and isn't miserable. And then, after that... after that nervous bit of deciding to check on her. He's going to a bar—hell, any would do—and when he does, he opens his journal and looks over that entry he'd been avoiding since he came back.
"How d'you prove you're worth something?"]
...Ha, you little moron.
[When he decides to finally return home, he's decidedly drunk, but like he hasn't done that in his lifetime. He's just more graceful than Vash—
ACK, my knee, that was a coffee table—
Maybe not so much.]
((Replies in a bit!))
But... Wolfwood always has been a thinker. And since the incident with Legato and Kaori, he's unable to find solace in much. Did he really do what was right? He—he tried what he could to do what Vash tried to force into his head: tried to find the route where no one died. But in order to do that, he had to become some sort of shitty dog in Legato's shadow. He knew the son-of-a-bitch hoped for it, planned for it, loved every second of tugging that leash.
He's avoided any real talking with anyone, really. Stayed in the apartment, avoided any real contact with Vash, did the usual Wolfwood trait of solitude: shutting yourself away from people when you have a thought that won't let you go. He'll bounce back from it, he surmises. Things will clear up for him later. He has to force himself to think that, in the end, it won't impact him. But still...
"Tell Legato that Rem was wrong—tell him that there is no worth in people, or in the illusion of peace."
"... whether that's true or not, you're worth something right now, okay? You don't ... You don't have to be useful by some guy's definition to be important."]
[Wolfwood's out and about today, albeit the shade around him suggests he's not much for enjoying the day, whether he means to look that way or not. Right now, he's frustrated with himself. And it shows. He decides to spend a few hours at the battle dome—takes his pent-up aggravations out on imaginary evils. He's not going to bother masking his weapon from anyone, because really? It's almost starting to feel like his trying to hide that part of him from this place. Every shot is precise and deadly. Mechanical and automatic. All what he learned, years ago, all denying the basic fundamentals of Vash's way of life. But he feels it, in his fingertips. He hesitates so minutely that he KNOWS he's doing it, regardless of how smooth his motions are.
...Dammit all.
Then he goes by the clinic, to see if Kaori's still there. She should be, he's thinking. But if she's not, then maybe that's even better. Maybe it means she was healed up and isn't miserable. And then, after that... after that nervous bit of deciding to check on her. He's going to a bar—hell, any would do—and when he does, he opens his journal and looks over that entry he'd been avoiding since he came back.
"How d'you prove you're worth something?"]
...Ha, you little moron.
[When he decides to finally return home, he's decidedly drunk, but like he hasn't done that in his lifetime. He's just more graceful than Vash—
ACK, my knee, that was a coffee table—
Maybe not so much.]
((Replies in a bit!))
Re: [ action ] 1/2
Why I'm out here... I guess I'm trying to out-walk all of my convictions and fears.
[He knows part of this is Vash's business, and it's hard to say whether or not Katara knows Vash as well as she could to know personal problems, but fuck it—that spikey-headed fool needed to just let things naturally flow.
Wolfwood was a private man. But not right now. Right now, he didn't even really mind it, with everything finally emptying his system. He'd been through the same thing Katara's been doing right now, at the dome. Hell, if someone had come up to him, he might've had the same sharp response, the same underlying rage that seemed to transfer to weapons and skills all too easily.]
A few nights ago, someone's life was in danger, and in order for me to make sure everyone came out of it safely, I had to say some pretty horrible things to a close friend of mine... Beyond the regret of talking to them like that, I'm more alarmed that it felt like I was just talking to myself.
[He bows his chin, smiling, gripping the arm of the cross.
It was surprisingly easy to confess. Flows well. Perhaps he just learned that admitting your feelings—whether it be to an altar, the woman you care for, a minor acquaintance—wasn't so bad.]
It's all complicated, and there are a lot of different dilemmas in my head from this one ordeal that I need to straighten out if I ever want peace of mind.