notabluesbro: ([Smoking] Serious business right now.)
[Heeey, Luceti. So Vash decided to try being like his brother today by deciding he wanted to kill the humans— just a few hours ago, in fact, in which Wolfwood nearly choked to death on his coffee and went out to find the idiot. What ended up happening was a wonderful little conversation fight that ended with gunfire, a tree toppling over, and a flash of light within the forest bright enough to alert anyone near that lake or forested area. Regardless, Wolfwood's counting his blessings: he's not dead, Vash isn't dead, and most importantly, there's still a completely unharmed, whole village.

but oh god Moro is going to bite his face off

Folks, he's damn happy to know that, despite a little environmental damage (I am so sorry, tree), everyone's safe. But there is the problem of Vash being an ass to the people he cares about. And the fact that he threatened to kill them. And the fact that he flapped his gums and told a lot of people a lot of things he'd never want them to know. So there's a voice coming over the journal, a little winded:]


[VOICE//Filtered from Vash, in case he tries to look back on this >.>;;] )

[ACTION]

[For anyone who was keeping an eye out for Vash or going off to see if he was up to something, you can find him. Er, sort of. Wolfwood'll be walking down the trail of the western lake, taking the less people-infected routes—unconscious Vash on one shoulder, tied up by the cloth that should be around the cross-gun he's holding in the other hand. He's ruffled, bloody, and looks like he's wanting to light something on fire. But don't worry, he's cool.

He's on his way back to the apartments, so this poor priest can do a little whiskey-drinking before he digs that bullet out of his right shoulder. >:( ]

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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