notabluesbro: ([Confused] You kicked who?)
[Wolfwood was happy to see the ugly scratch on his forehead was gone, and most of the flexibility of his good shoulder had returned to him. The soreness that would have dragged itself along in the days to come have long since passed, but he's far more annoyed at the sling he was forced to wear on his arm. Immobile. Unable to really carry his Punisher around (and that's just one of those weaknesses, on casual days, isn't it?).

Not to mention, with Milly on him about keeping rested and not getting into anymore trouble—just imagine the finger wagging and the never-ending questions about this and that and do you need new bandages?—he can finally wander out without feeling like a kid sneaking out of a window. But what is this? A few... confused, unfamiliar faces?

New Feather Time. Wonderful. Time to find a spot to sit and crack open that journal of his to check in on everyone. Everyone.]


[Voice//Filtered from Legato]

Sounds like we have some new people falling in. Or swimming in. Or climbing down. At least you don't have to worry about getting stuck waist-deep in desert sand here, now that that's all gone; I showed up there, and let's just say it's a doozy trying to get back to village life.

... But showing up in the middle of the ocean would have been pretty bad, too.

[He rubs his chin.]

Ahhh, shit, has it really been over a year?

[One extra year of living. He's pleased to consider it.]

How many people share a year here with me, huh? Felt pretty short.

Anyway, the name's Wolfwood; if you have any questions, I wouldn't mind answering them. Though I suggest the nice little list in the journal about anything and everything. Now that the draft is behind us, we might just have a moment of peace around here for settling down...

[If you want to run into him any other time, go right ahead. He's at the plaza, but he'll also stop by the weapons shop and walk out with a huge box under one arm. Despite the weight and the old wound on that arm, it's pretty effortless. Don't mind the kitten with the donut-shaped mark over its eye following him. That's just Vash's kitten. :|

He's a creeper like his mother. Can't shake him off.]

((ooc: if you signed up for a kitten (or want one, since there are still a few untaken), there will be an ooc post and an ic post by milly-mun about picking them up from the house! They're all ready to go.))
notabluesbro: ([Smile] We'll be okay.)
[Morning ritual: sit up groggily, smoke a cigarette, kick stupid cat back out of bed after the umpteenth time. Fortunately, he'd managed to not want to pop Vash's head off his shoulders today, so he takes this as a good sign. And after he manages to regain his thoughts and get some breakfast in him, he cracks open his journal to see what's what.]

[[Filtered from Legato//100% Unhackable by Nami  see Vash he said he was working on it |D ]]

So there's a shitload of new people... Hard to think I've been here this long, but you veterans probably snicker at a few measly months, right? [The sound of smoke leaving him, and it's obvious now he's been at the same usual bad habit.] Good to see these new guys got to miss the crappier part of this place, at least.

[And a charmingly added:]

It's not so bad when you get used to it, promise.

[Wolfwood really didn't find too much eventful this fine morning—it was a little chilly out, so he coiled himself in a black scarf, but... it was strangely relaxed today. It's something he feels ill-prepared for, even. Along his route of wandering, the preacher-man happened into the item shop on an interesting day; he'd spent so much time referring to the dangers of his world, he didn't consider that the neutral or even... nice things would snake their way into Luceti.

As such, he found a small weathered chest the that he could carry under one arm—a familiar one.

He drags it out, sits on a bench, and inspects it... and the first thing he happens across is a picture. He's not sure whether to burn it or laugh, so he just looks at it for a moment, noting the withered edges and shitty weathering. What a blast from the past. Like looking into the face of time.

He can be found here by whoever wants to be a creeper, or on his way back home with his cross on one shoulder and this small chest on the other. Clearly, he works out. But alas! Something slips out of the back of the chest without him noticing and floats quietly down to the ground.]
notabluesbro: ([Smile] Devious)
[Wolfwood was neutral about Halloween, really—while he thought the get-up was interesting, there was no way in hell he was going to run around in a costume. Well, when he finally did decide to brave the outside...!

Oh. Just a traditional priest uniform with a nice coat and a cool cross rosary. How damn lucky of him. Maybe this weird Halloween event won't be so bad after all yeah, see you in six days, Wolfwood. So he'll just be walking around looking less chest-flashy and more man-of-godly, but the cigarette and signature cross is still present. Actually, come to think of it, a priest walking around dark settings always sets a spooky mood, right? Someone really should show him The Exorcist sometime.

When he finally does turn on the guide, he's sitting on a bench noting the interesting decor around the plaza.]


So, anyone lucky enough not to get embarrassing costumes?

[He grins, puffing on a cigarette.]

I haven't worn one of these in years. The collar'll drive me crazy by the time this is over, I swear—but it doesn't seem like I can get rid of it.

I'm guessing it's the same for everyone else, eh?

[Oh, and btw, Kuroneko's lingering nearby dressed in this, too.]
notabluesbro: ([Worried] That's not a flesh wound.)
[There's a small ruckus at the lake—splashing, and then perhaps a quieted (but strangled none-the-less) intake of breath. Not the sound of pain, but of air refilling tired lungs. Wolfwood, clad in rolled-up pants and a T-shit—what an image, him in anything other than a suit—would walk just far enough into the water to feel the sensation of losing balance. Floating uncomfortably.

Water never looked so impending and dangerous before... hell, before it was more of a source of life. Now, he isn't sure... because when he'd been teleported into it, he could only remember the light from the sky fading away and his vision becoming blackness. It reminded him of something he didn't like thinking about.

Makes him wanna smother it out.

He paddles with his hands for a few seconds in water just tall enough to hover in and sinks for a few seconds. Paces back up a muddy slope. Let's try that again. Swims, swims—sinks. He always feels so heavy. The water's thicker than it looks, he surmises. Maybe.

Swim swim sink.

...

Splish!

Gaaasp—

And this continues for a little while. After he tries once he pulls back up to the safety of the shallow, looks around in the usual paranoia, and goes for it again. Before he tried swimming, he really didn't feel any compulsion to learn it. But now that he was in the water, the more he failed, the more it pissed him off. Pissed him way off.

One can find him here, trying to swim, or him just tossed into the grass nearby shaking the water off his hair. His cross is leaned against a tree and a duffel bag next to it, in which you may catch him dragging his regular clothes on over his wet ones.]

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Nicholas D. Wolfwood

November 2012

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