( vash is a good liar when it comes to keeping people at arm's length, keeping them safe and not too involved with anything he's got going on for him, but he's always going to be an open book when it comes to someone that has gotten to know him, or at the very least spent enough time around him to figure out some of his tells. the way he looks everywhere but at the person currently scrutinizing him. the way he fidgets under said scrutiny. there is only so long he can keep this going and he doesn't think it's going to be long enough to do him any good.
ugh. why did this have to happen now? now? stupid … plant body. stupid eggs! he never even knows what he's supposed to do with them once they're out!
a thought occurs to him that he's never bothered to figure out if they taste like anything when cooked, but that feels too much like cannibalism and an intrusive thought all at once, so maybe … no? maybe no. maybe very much no.
he makes a miserable sort of sound under his breath and presses his face into his knees, another wave of discomfort threading its way through him like a physical touch; his hips ache, his thighs ache, and much to his dismay he can already feel wetness collecting in his underwear, which really means that it's not going to be very long before wolfwood can smell it. if he's looking for the scent of infection, or blood, or even the grossness that comes from a punctured gut, he certainly isn't going to find it.
just a peculiar, sharp sweetness that is going to seem incredibly out of place.
he gives a squeak — and honest-to-god squeak, dang it! — when wolfwood yanks at the blanket, and he tries to keep his hold on it even as he scrambles to give an answer that might get him to leave him alone. he's still holding onto that juice bottle, making sure it doesn't spill, and his eyes are pleading when he finally looks up to meet the other's gaze. )
It's really not something you need to worry about. Really! I've, uh … I can handle it. It's just … not gonna be pretty.
( oh, god. oh god he's really done it now. opened the floodgates. rip vash the stampede, he's going to perish here from embarrassment.)
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Date: 2024-10-28 11:36 pm (UTC)ugh. why did this have to happen now? now? stupid … plant body. stupid eggs! he never even knows what he's supposed to do with them once they're out!
a thought occurs to him that he's never bothered to figure out if they taste like anything when cooked, but that feels too much like cannibalism and an intrusive thought all at once, so maybe … no? maybe no. maybe very much no.
he makes a miserable sort of sound under his breath and presses his face into his knees, another wave of discomfort threading its way through him like a physical touch; his hips ache, his thighs ache, and much to his dismay he can already feel wetness collecting in his underwear, which really means that it's not going to be very long before wolfwood can smell it. if he's looking for the scent of infection, or blood, or even the grossness that comes from a punctured gut, he certainly isn't going to find it.
just a peculiar, sharp sweetness that is going to seem incredibly out of place.
he gives a squeak — and honest-to-god squeak, dang it! — when wolfwood yanks at the blanket, and he tries to keep his hold on it even as he scrambles to give an answer that might get him to leave him alone. he's still holding onto that juice bottle, making sure it doesn't spill, and his eyes are pleading when he finally looks up to meet the other's gaze. )
It's really not something you need to worry about. Really! I've, uh … I can handle it. It's just … not gonna be pretty.
( oh, god. oh god he's really done it now. opened the floodgates. rip vash the stampede, he's going to perish here from embarrassment. )