Nicholas D. Wolfwood (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
notabluesbro) wrote2011-02-22 04:48 pm
notabluesbro) wrote2011-02-22 04:48 pm
Entry tags:
18th Confession [Voice/Action]
[Voice]
Looks like we're being led around by a rope, like usual. But you gotta' wonder—what good will it do to rile us all up into wanting to fight, into learning how to fight? Or have they forgotten that most of Luceti wants them either dead, or drinking through a straw? Either way, it's pretty incredible that they can't hold back these enemies, and yet we can kill them on the battlefield. Us, people who are trapped here, who can't even fight a gang of robots from dragging us off.
It's all topsy-turvy, isn't it?
[And while he's here... well, might as well take his mind off things for a little while to address a certain grumpy-faced child...]
[[Filtered to 'Katie' // 70% Unhackable]]
Hey, kid—can I talk to you, or would you rather just glare at me for a minute?
[Said without a trace of malice, of course, because Wolfwood has a hard time throwing that around kids; actually, he's far too curious about how she did it, than the fact that she tossed him for no real known reason toward what could've been hissecond death.]
[Action]
[All that said and done, he's got practicing to do. He's been hoarding up on his ammo, but knowing they'll supply him with more is a relief; he goes to the battle dome and proceeds to shoot apart whatever the simulation throws at him: guys with angel wings? Their weak points are those. Those big-ass things, right there. And they're significantly easy to shoot down when you just go for one of them. But then, he also practices on people he's used to shooting: guys with guns.
Swivel cross. Block bullets. Fire back from behind Punisher. It's all ingrained into his mind as clear as anything else he's ever learned. Except where his shots normally tear through vital organs, a lot of his targets instead are hit where they couldn't use their guns anymore—arms, and then legs, all meticulous. Some are killed. He notes it, acknowledges it, and makes no effort to correct himself for it.
When he walks out of the battle dome, his cross is significantly lighter. He'll take the time to drop by the Good Spirits and drink equally light, draw out a cigarette and light it, wait until the light outside's gone and find himself too awake to return home just yet. So he sits in the forest against a rock, arms folded while he barks sharply to his empty left-hand side:]
Are you going to teach me more or not?
[He returns home with a few little burns here and there, as expected. But at least he can create bigger blasts of fire. It's more than he was hoping for. Somewhere in this day, he fancies he'll have to talk to Vash about what's to come.]
Looks like we're being led around by a rope, like usual. But you gotta' wonder—what good will it do to rile us all up into wanting to fight, into learning how to fight? Or have they forgotten that most of Luceti wants them either dead, or drinking through a straw? Either way, it's pretty incredible that they can't hold back these enemies, and yet we can kill them on the battlefield. Us, people who are trapped here, who can't even fight a gang of robots from dragging us off.
It's all topsy-turvy, isn't it?
[And while he's here... well, might as well take his mind off things for a little while to address a certain grumpy-faced child...]
[[Filtered to 'Katie' // 70% Unhackable]]
Hey, kid—can I talk to you, or would you rather just glare at me for a minute?
[Said without a trace of malice, of course, because Wolfwood has a hard time throwing that around kids; actually, he's far too curious about how she did it, than the fact that she tossed him for no real known reason toward what could've been his
[Action]
[All that said and done, he's got practicing to do. He's been hoarding up on his ammo, but knowing they'll supply him with more is a relief; he goes to the battle dome and proceeds to shoot apart whatever the simulation throws at him: guys with angel wings? Their weak points are those. Those big-ass things, right there. And they're significantly easy to shoot down when you just go for one of them. But then, he also practices on people he's used to shooting: guys with guns.
Swivel cross. Block bullets. Fire back from behind Punisher. It's all ingrained into his mind as clear as anything else he's ever learned. Except where his shots normally tear through vital organs, a lot of his targets instead are hit where they couldn't use their guns anymore—arms, and then legs, all meticulous. Some are killed. He notes it, acknowledges it, and makes no effort to correct himself for it.
When he walks out of the battle dome, his cross is significantly lighter. He'll take the time to drop by the Good Spirits and drink equally light, draw out a cigarette and light it, wait until the light outside's gone and find himself too awake to return home just yet. So he sits in the forest against a rock, arms folded while he barks sharply to his empty left-hand side:]
Are you going to teach me more or not?
[He returns home with a few little burns here and there, as expected. But at least he can create bigger blasts of fire. It's more than he was hoping for. Somewhere in this day, he fancies he'll have to talk to Vash about what's to come.]
no subject
How do you know my name?
[Because that is important and if priests know her name that means terrible things and aaaah ;A;]
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[He reaches into his pockets for a cigarette, but pauses.
In a low but soft voice:]
I almost died up there, y'know. Could you at least tell me why you hate me so much? I'll be sure to stay away from you, if it's that bad.
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...okay, she still feels bad, but like many a small child she'll just hide that behind total sullenness.] Just because you're a priest doesn't mean I have to confess.
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You just don't seem like the kind of girl who'd toss someone into the mountains unless you had a completely understandable reason.
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Aren't you meant to say something like I will hunt you to the ends of the earth, scourge of Satan or something? Not that I am a scourge of Satan, but where I come from priests don't like little girls.
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like he was.]Well, where I come from, priests have a harder time pointing fingers because they're too busy keeping themselves alive--but even then, I've never been very good at acting like a normal preacherman!
If someone told me to hunt a 'scourge of Satan', I'd probably cheat and give them a scorpion in a bag. Those little things are just the worst, y'know.
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You seem like a normal one. Do you carry that cross everywhere?
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[He pauses at the question, thoughtful.]
I guess I do, a lot of the time. I've carried it around with me since I was... ah, around 12 or so. So it can feel a little weird, not having it with me. I never really realized how much I hefted it around until I came here, though.
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[Yours is clearly a dangerous world, Wolfwood B|]
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[I think.]
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What happened to your parents?
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...
I'm allergic to priests.
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Wait, what?]
...
Allergic to priests...?
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Bye, Wolfwood. |D]
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HUMBUGGER!!]
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... 'allergic to priests'.
:|a]