notabluesbro | 23rd Confession [Voice/Action]

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23rd Confession [Voice/Action]

[Fine, he tells himself—he might as well check out the journal; while he's normally on top of things (you never know what crazy shit's gonna go down), he's been pretty laid back, he'll admit. It's been calm, despite the last event. He's managed to just relax and take it as a small vacation, or some sort of half-assed blessing. Yeah, he'll go with that.

And now, to pester the new people.]

[VOICE]

Welcome to Luceti, all you new people out there—do I have some samurai out there? Gunslingers? How about the ever-popular pirate? I swear, I've never seen so many in one place before. [Granted he'd never seen a pirate in his life prior to Luceti, but eeeeh, whatever.] I'm starting to notice this place has just about every type of person around. Well, except for people the size of mountains. I imagine it wouldn't be very comfortable being around this rough terrain, actually.

[a thoughtful hum] I imagine some of you are from the usual interesting places... space? The desert? Worlds full of dragons or monsters or swords that're way too big to be lugging around?

[and a beat]

And don't forget to speak to your local spirit, around here. Just avoid the fire one—he's a real bastard.

[FILTERED TO VASH // 70 PERCENT UNHACKABLE]

Hey, how the hell long has it been since we've had a drink? I think I'm feeling game for a few rounds. Unless you're too busy having hair contests with porcupines.

[So it goes, things feel a little more normal again. He prefers it; the days where his cross sits unused in the corner of his room are pleasant ones, to say the least. Granted, poor Amelia's stuck in there house now thanks to the hideous hand she'd been dealt in the last shift. He makes sure to check in with her in the apartment to see if she's settling well enough, before giving himself a breather outside on the path with cross in hand. As much as he enjoys the whole 'not using it' thing, he's gotta keep himself sharp.

You never know, right?

By the time he's done at the battle dome, chipping away at the usual horde of 50 or so moving targets ~~that totally look like bandits,~~ he's ready to get on home and hit the hay. Uneventful, for the most part. It's one of those times where the clock seems to be at 7 in the morn' one moment and then 11:30 at night the next.

He slips into his room after dinner, and smokes on a cigarette as he gets ready to end one day and start the next.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It's late, Milly's in her big yellow PJs and she's just about to go and fix herself a cup of hot milk before bedtime when she notices that the light is still on in Wolfwood's room. She taps on the door and pushes it open, pretty sure he won't mind her coming in unnanounced.]

Mr. Priest? I was going to make some hot milk, would you-

[And the words on the tip of her tongue stop dead as she sees that he is without a shirt and his entire lower torso is riddled with vivid, angry scars, and suddenly she feels a terrible stab of grief hit her in the same place and the gasp that escapes is completely unbidden and unwanted.]

[Wolfwood hardly expects anyone to pop in at this hour, so when he turns toward the creaking door—he doesn't even consider the situation until her words stop into that gasp of surprise...]

[Shit. Shit.

Shirt still grasped in hand, he ducks his chin thoughtfully, not bothering to go and try to hide anything. It's, uh, pretty much useless, anyway. Still, he's having a hard time replying to that look you're giving him. So, he just looks back with a frown, waiting for anything beyond that sound.

But his look turns apologetic, all the same.]

Edited 2011-05-09 10:26 (UTC)

[Milly thinks and feels sometimes that she's living in a wonderful dream, even after all this time. How could this place be bad, if it brings good people back into her life who she thought had been gone forever? Sometimes she can even pretend, for a moment, when she's slipped her hand in Wolfwood's, or he's calling her Honey (strange how a shared joke between them has now become an endearment, a petname, his for her) and they're sharing a sunset... sometimes she can pretend that all that stuff that happened before she arrived here is the dream, a horrible nightmare, and this is the reality.

But the reality is carved into Nicholas D. Wolfwood's flesh, plain as day for anyone to see, etched in brilliant scarlet against comparatively pale flesh. How could anyone, anyone, bear such injuries and expect to live?

He must have died in such pain.

Milly's hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide and glistening against her will. Silly, silly Milly! She lets her hand fall, steeling herself, and forces herself to look away, to look up, up into his face which is perfect to her. He's still perfect to her, in every single way, but... but he was broken. Torn to bits and left alone in a chapel where Mr. Vash had found him and-

Her eyes dart back to his poor, ruined body and she can't bear it. She can't take this quiet stillness. She can't take that apologetic look on his face because it's not his fault. It's not his fault that someone tore him from them, from her. He's alive and he's here and he's hurting and-

Milly's bare feed pad across the distance between them, not so very far in the grand scale of things but still, a distance none the less, and comes to stand in front of him, her eyes lowered.]

Do they hurt?

[When did her voice get so tiny? Meryl is able to roar like a lioness at times, powerful and assertive even at the worst of times. Milly would give anything to have that sort of confidence in her tone when she's feeling unsure, and now she's not because she doesn't know what she can do to make this better.

Why is he looking at her like he's sorry? She should be apologising to him. She should have never let him leave her, she should have been awful and selfish and held onto him and never, never let him go.

She should have been there beside him when he died.]

[He sighs defeated at the question. The tension he'd felt in his shoulders? It was melting away at the sound of her stunned concern--because dammit, Milly, you're always so nice (too nice, if he once recalls thinking) and he answers the question softly as he looks down at her downcast face.]

... Nah, they're just scars. They're all healed up, through and through.

[Tentatively, she takes another step closer, and then reaches out with her hand to brush her fingertips over one of them.]

You're not just saying that so that I won't worry, are you? They really don't hurt?

Edited 2011-05-09 22:27 (UTC)

[He presses his hand over hers at the motion, even if it's an unfamiliar sort of move on his part; in hindsight, he's glad they're addressing this now so that he didn't have to sit and wait for it....

Still. Can't have her worrying about it bothering him.]

Trust me, if they ever hurt, I'll be complaining loud enough for the whole complex to hear. [Lies, but he means the core point of it.] They're just old scars now.

[She looks up at him, her brows drawn into a little frown, before she brings her hand free hand up to cup his cheek and look up at him properly, offering him a sad, worried little smile, before she steels herself and leans in to close the distance between them and kiss him.]

[You're too nice, Milly, he thinks—but is glad for, all the same, and returns the kiss with a hand on her arm; it's amazing, he thinks, that it's taken him so long to actually learn the power behind a kiss—a real one, that has something to it.

When the kiss ends, there's a natural flow of pulling her close to him in a hug and pressing his cheek to her ear (so, so unfamiliar, so unseen for most of his life), staring quietly across the dimmed room.]

It's all okay.

[She wraps her arms around him, holding him close, holding him tight, and lets out a shaky breath that stirs the hair at the nape of his neck.]

I know it is, but-

I'm so sorry.

[She kisses his shoulder- it's the only thing she can reach while she's holding him like this- as one hand threads through his hair.]

I'm so, so sorry.

[He's surprised at that unfamiliar touch near his neck, and leans into her hand. It's all pretty damn comforting; where the hell was all this when he needed it, years ago? He smiles at that, voice sympathetic.]

No one has to apologize for anything, especially not you.

[She thinks, with a chuckle, that really for a preacher man, he's not really very good at practicing what he preaches.

She kisses his shoulder again- twice in quick succession- and buries her face in the crook of his neck.]

You don't either.

[A short, surrendering laugh at that.]

I'm starting to think it's a bad character trait more than a passing phase for me.

No, you just like to take the weight of the world onto your shoulders when you don't have to.

[Her fingers trace the shell of his ear as she strokes his hair.]

You don't need to hide from me, I like every part of you. You won't upset me, I promise.

[He's not so sure he likes that, though, Milly. There are things about him you shouldn't ever like. There's nothing wrong with disliking things about a person, is there? It's one of the first lessons he'd ever taught himself.]

...The weight of the world, huh?

[Maybe that's true. Hey, but at least he's not as bad as Vash, right?

He runs his thumb across the corner of her mouth as he pulls back.]

... Thanks.

[But that's the thing about being in love, on just about to be in love well and truly. You see everything, the light and the dark parts, and you shine light on the dark bits and take the light parts into yourself so you can share them together.

Before he pulls away entirely, she kisses the pad of his thumb then catches his hand in her own, meeting his eyes.]

I have broad shoulders, you know. I can carry things too.

[grin]

Considering how much your stun gun weighs, you're right....

[He just about reaches to touch her shoulder again, but he finds himself making a fist and pulling away, away from her gaze. Instead he just offers the hand he's holding a reaffirming squeeze back.]

Ah. Well. [a soft pat of her hand] We should probably get to sleep... It's getting late, right?

[Gotta keep courting, hmmm?]

Mmm, a little bit.

[She inches closer to him, reclaiming just a little bit of the distance that he put between them.]

So you don't want any milk or anything? Or... a real goodnight kiss?

[It's so stupid to still feel so shy around him; they've even had sex before after all, kisses should be easy things to give and take and steal, but with this especially she feels big and clumsy and awkward. The growing intimacy still feels so new and strange, and makes her stomach do strange, flailing cartwheels every time she catches him smiling at her or squeezing her hand like he just did.]

[Before she finishes 'kiss', he leans in and brushes his lips against hers. With honesty, and maybe a tad sheepish:]

If I kiss you too many times tonight, I don't think I'd be able to stop my thoughts from wandering...

[V_V]

[She kisses him back eagerly, one arm curling around his neck as she does so. When he draws back, her cheeks are slightly pinker and her breathing's a little heavier, but she smiles, leans in to brush a peck across his lips for good measure.]

Where do you think they'd go?

[Close. Maybe too close? Ha, he already told Sanji, courting isn't his strong suit—all this kissing is just messing up his ability to court you probably, young lady.]

[SUDDENLY what kind of question is that *A*

Hrmph—mphhaaaaaaIIIIIiii don't want to answer that bluntly... Stop breathing heavy, woman, you make it hard to concentrate.]

They'd go places a typical preacher's mind shouldn't be going.

[Not that him being a preacher has ever done anything in terms of his choices, but he figured it made a point a clearer. Maybe.]

Oh? Oh!

[Oh that's right. Not wearing a shirt and kissing me in my pyjamas...

o///o]

Typical preachers don't usually meet girls in their pyjamas at night, do they? Eh heh.

[This is where she should step back...

...any moment now...

...in your own time Milly...

...any time is good...

seriously.]

Oh dear, now my thoughts are going wandering too.

23rd Confession [Voice/Action]

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