Nicholas D. Wolfwood

[For the past two nights, Wolfwood'd been dreaming some pretty odd things. The first night consisted of... giant robot spiders... and—Vash, what the hell are you doing in his dreams? And why are we storming a place full of bandits? And his sister, he dreamed of her as well... He's never had such vivid images pass his vision before. Not just vivid, but so unusual. And then 'memories' he when he was a child...

No. No... Why would he ever dream of something like this?

The second night consisted of a lot of disjointed 'dreams', too, but the worst one—the worst one—woke him out of a dead sleep and kept him awake for most of the night; he took a calm, quiet walk around his apartments to calm him down, but what met his eyes wasn't entirely calming. A creature. He was sure of it. The outline was inhuman, and its eyes.... For a moment he was frozen in surprise, and then sequentially frozen in panic. But it just stared blankly for another moment and ran off into the dark.

He remained awake to keep an eye out. If there really was something unnatural in the forest, he wanted to make sure it didn't try anything stupid, even if he couldn't do much about it. As the morning sun hits Luceti, he runs a handful of hair through his fingers and decides he should bring it up. After all, everyone else seemed to be having dreams. He was curious, for their sake and his.]

[Voice]

Has anyone... seen anything in the forest? A creature. I think I ran into something in the night that definitely isn't a regular around here...

[a beat, and then, lots of questions for lots of people]

[Filtered to the family (aka anyone he would check in on)]

Hey you guys, are you all doing all right? Having any weird dreams lately, like the others?

[Voice//Filtered to Vash]

Hey, needle noggin. Can I speak with you for a sec?

[Voice//Filtered to Amelia]

... Amelia. This is Wolfwood. Can you spare me a little of your time, if you wouldn't mind?

[After he makes those calls, he returns to the church for post-festival cleaning up... and sighs, tired. Something just felt wrong—and he worried for what it all meant. Shifts in Luceti are usually aggravating yes, sometimes a hurtful pain, but... for it to enter dreams, it was a first for him. As he cleans everything up to the way it was, he thinks about all the images that burrowed into his mind. No, he's had a good family, and a relatively peaceful life. What's with that cross—??

Once again he goes outside for a cigarette, but he sits on the church steps with his elbows at his knees and his gaze downcast. Deep in his own thoughts. Same old Nicholas. Must've got it from his father...]


((ooc: Wolfwood quota all filled up @_@; Ian, Sayo, and Elicia might be posting to the log for dream/beasty-related stuff))

[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 his second 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.]