how much do you know about plant cycles ( closed );

[ecad]

( if you happen to have noticed anything off about him recently, no, you most certainly have not.

he's never claimed to understand much about plant cycles, just that they always seem to come about at the most inconvenient of times, and have gotten increasingly more uncomfortable over the last few years. decade, maybe, but he hasn't been paying that close attention, because at the end of it all it's just one giant inconvenience and he would really rather not have to deal with them in the first place.

but he can always tell when it's coming, because it isn't exactly subtle and generally doesn't leave him with a whole lot of wiggle room to prepare; it begins with an altogether restlessness that overshadows his general skittishness, something that could easily be overlooked or blamed on something else. an itch beneath the surface of his skin that he can never manage to scratch well enough, figuratively speaking, and that's before the low-grade fever sets in. chills and all! because it can't just be a tip of his temperature in the wrong direction, no, because nothing has ever and will never be easy for him, if his track record in all things life are anything to go by. flushed cheeks and the tips of his ears and chills that are more annoying than anything else, but at least that's less embarrassing than the nesting instinct.

which … unfortunately for him is where he's at right now, because he can never have anything nice, but at least … they'd been able to stop at an actual inn, able to afford that sort of thing for a night or two, and if he's lucky? ha?? this whole nonsense will be over before they have to pick up and carry on again.

the only problem with that is that he isn't the only occupant of the room he's currently holed up in. wolfwood had only gone out in search of a new pack of smokes, he'll probably be back any freaking minute, and what is he going to find when he crosses that threshold again? one ( 1 ) humanoid typhoon curled up in the middle of the singular bed, buried beneath what linens he could find — of which there weren't many, because there never are — shivering and hugging his knees and praying to whatever god that is still around to listen that he could just get it over with already.

how many are there going to be this time, hm? )

Comments

[louboutinjudas]

[ With a guy like Vash, who can tell what's off? Wolfwood stalks through town, Punisher a solid, familar weight against his back, chewing mindlessly on an increasingly soggy lollipop stick. Blondie's been extra twitchy the last few days -- again, not that anyone who wasn't professionally invested in watching the guy would notice, given how much of a flailing, apologizing mess he usually is. If it was anyone else, Wolfwood would just chalk it up to a cold, something picked up in a crowd easy as a knife sliding between ribs. It certainly looks like a cold, or a flu, maybe -- something to make him squirm because his joints ache more than they already do, something that's put some color in that pale face and a little more of a gleam in those big dumb eyes.

No, he's been watching. Too much depends on Stampede here making it to Julai in one piece, and as Wolfwood stomps back up the stairs to their room -- their room, because he's going to keep an eye on the asshole! -- he's got more than just cigarettes in the sack at his side. ]

Oi, Spikey, you still up?

[ He announces himself even before unlocking the door, as though that could have been anyone else hauling three hundred pounds of machine gun up the stairs. Vash is sick (which is surprising) and not taking care of himself (which is in no way surprising), and sWolfwood doesn't want to have to dodge in case the dummy is out of his mind with fever. He'd shoot anyone who tried to come into his room when he was sick, after all!

Door unlocked, he shoves it open gracelessly, eyes narrowing at the sight of Vash, curled up in a fever-sweaty ball. At least, that's what he assumes is happening in that pile of bedding. Looks like he was right to stop at that shop on the way back, huh?

He turns just long enough to shut the door, leaning Punisher against it as an added level of security, before dumping the contents of his shopping bag out on the little table by the bed. If Vash is sick that'll slow them down, and they can't slow down... no matter how much he might want to. ]

You look like shit.

[ Nicholas the Punisher might be a piece of shit assassin, but once upon a time Nico knew how to care for brats with fevers. The bottle of juice is the biggest they had, the soup sounded like mostly broth when he shook the cans, and the sleeve of plain crackers is just what it says on the tin, simple to eat and easy to keep down. Don't say he never did anything for ya, Blondie. ]

You even alive in there?

[ecad]

( well. okay, so that's true. he's never been accused of being anything close to normal, just a lil' guy or anything like that, and maybe there's a part of him that knows he does it on purpose. to keep others at arm's length, to not make them want to get too close, because getting close to him has only ever meant bad things for everyone involved.

it's a defense mechanism, all right? sue him. he might have had decades to develop healthier ones, but he's never been accused of being smart about things, either.

he doesn't know the other has been watching him so closely, but it really would be par for the course for them at this point. he'd meant what he said about those being the eyes of a good guy, and even if he's keeping such close tabs on him for reasons the blond isn't exactly privy to, that knowledge alone would have him thinking he's more than justified in his convictions. wolfwood is a good guy, and once he sees that he's bringing back things to help him feel better?

yeah, definitely cementing that good guy vibe. he knows good people when he sees them!

he jolts a bit underneath his layers of linens when he hears wolfwood's voice on the other side of the door. crap. there is not going to be any easy way at all to go about this, and he can't exactly suggest they take separate rooms because he knows the other isn't going to go for it, and he'll probably ask questions, and he does not want to answer any questions about this.

he waits until the other is over the threshold and the door is closed again before peeking out from underneath the blankets, at first nothing more than a couple of glassy blue eyes and a shock of blond hair visible from here he stands. he notes the bag, and watches him empty its contents on the table, chest twisting with a sense of fondness he has no right to when he realizes … he's trying to take care of him. in his own way. )

—Oh! Hi. M'alive, yeah, takes more than … whatever this is to get me down for good! Eheh.

( sir you're already being dodgy, and you've already said you don't want to answer questions. you're not making this easy on yourself!

he pulls himself up onto the crook of his prosthetic, and enough of the blanket falls away that his entire face is out in the open. his bedhead is impressive, but probably only because he's been sweating through his layers like he really does have the flu. ) You didn't … get this stuff for me, did you? I'll be fine! I swear!

[louboutinjudas]

[ He absolutely has the flu. That flushed, already in bed, but not puking and shitting everywhere? It's just a sickness, and although he tries not to let it show, it's a relief to have that confirmed. He's not dying -- he's just sick. ]

You're damn right you'll be fine!

[ The bastard took all the bedding too, didn't he? There's no way Wolfwood's sharing a bed with somebody sick -- their sharing is already a tentative thing, with too many unspoken rules and boundaries, that shift and rebuild themselves faster than a dune in a storm. He can sleep beside Spikey or he can tend to his illness, but both is asking too much. He doesn't have that much kindness to give. ]

It's just a cold, Spikey. Don't be such a baby.

[ Now. Wolfwood holds up the bottle of juice, and points it at Vash threateningly. It's a brilliant orange inside the glass bottle -- it's the good stuff, and it was damn expensive, and Vash is going to drink every drop. ]

Juice first. Keep it down, and you get soup later.

[ecad]

( well, wolfwood has gotten one thing right; he isn't dying, per se, but the closer it gets to showtime he sometimes feels like he might be, and the longer the other stays to fuss over him the more pressed he's feeling about how he's going to explain just what's happening to him. he never thought he would have to have this kind of conversation, you know? it's not like his cycle comes around very often. once every handful of years or so, he's never really paid that close attention because he's always been alone up to now. hasn't had to worry about others being around him and asking questions.

even if they would be well within their right to. because it isn't like humans lay eggs, right? right.

he sits up, finally, still wrapped in a bundle of blankets but at the very least more visible. better to hold a conversation with, and better to reach for the juice the other holds out to him. when was the last time he'd even had juice? he's sure he can't remember, and it doesn't really matter at the end of it.

he takes a few tentative sips of the juice, and it's good. refreshing on the back of his tongue as he holds the bottle in his organic hand and pulling his knees up close to his chest. it helps the ache that's already begun in his hips, and a flicker in his expression briefly shows his discomfort, but it's there and gone again in an instant. ) S'not a cold. ( he mumbles into his next sip of juice. but spikey, hadn't you just said 'whatever this is', implying that you didn't know? did you lie? ) I mean, I'm pretty sure it's not! Doesn't feel like one, at least. ( have you ever even had a cold, vash? can plants get colds? even when you're closer to being human than, say, your psychopath of a brother? he's never gotten a cold.

he seems to burrow a little more into his blanket nest. please don't ask questions. this is already awkward enough. ) And if it is, you sure you wanna be in the same room with me?

[louboutinjudas]

[ Signs that Vash is actually really unwell: he took the offered bottle of juice and drank some, without Wolfwood needing to threaten him or hold him down or anything. He took multiple drinks, even, all while protesting how he's not actually sick and thereby setting off every single one of Wolfwood's bullshit alarms..

Wolfwood folds his arms and scowls down at Vash from his spot at the side of the bed, an immovable object. Yeah, Vash already said that he didn't know what this is, and maybe that's true -- maybe he knows it's not just a cold, or the flu, but doesn't know what is actually wrong.

Or maybe he knows exactly what's wrong, and he's decided that he deserves to suffer through it on his own. ]

We're not talking about what I want.

[ What else could cause sweating, flush, and what looked for a moment there to be physical discomfort? A gut injury would cause all those things, Wolfwood realizes. Heavy bleeding, especially from something extra painful like a burn. An infection. He doesn't smell any blood or the filth that goes along with a punctured gut, but that could just mean it's been bandaged.

Shit. He can't assess a damn thing with Vash bumndled up like that, so obviously the solution is to yank the blanket away and see what Vash is hiding. ]

We're talking about what you've got going on under there.

[ He's not worried. He's mad. Hiding illness -- or injuries, same thing -- is how they get worse, dumbass! ]

[ecad]

( 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. )

[louboutinjudas]

[ It’s not going to be pretty, huh? Wolfwood lets Vash reclaim the blanket, but only so that the juice doesn’t end up all over the bed. That stuff was expensive, and he doesn’t want to see it wasted! Wasting food is one of the only sins he believes in. ]

Here’s what’s going to happen.

[ Its an infection, isn’t it? He’s got a spot that’s been rubbed raw somewhere private, and he’s feeling embarrassed. Maybe this bit of public humiliation will teach the Stampede here that he needs to tend to his wounds in a timely and thorough manner. Otherwise, no amount of batting those pretty blue eyes is going to save him from Nurse Wolfwood’s tender mercies. ]

You’re gonna put that goddamn expensive juice down—[ And he raises a hand to pre-empt any comments that reveal might have spawned. ] --Without saying shit about how much it cost, or any bullshit about deserving or whatever. Just put it down, silently, and then?

[ God, he really is a babysitter, isn’t he? ]

And then we, that’s you and me both, we are gonna patch up whatever stupid thing you did to yourself. And then, we’ll talk about who gets the bed.

[ It’ll be Vash, but depending on how badly these next few minutes go, Wolfwood might claim all the pillows. ]

None of that was a request, by th’way.

[ecad]

( look, there are more times than there aren't that vash needs a babysitter, but this is definitely not one of them! trust him! you really don't want to be around for everything that's up coming up so much more quickly than he cares for.

he lets wolfwood finish his piece, head bowed slightly, chin all but tucked against his chest like he really is a child being chastised for something he should know better about; it's his own fault for making such a big deal out of this, for even thinking that he could explain part of this away and get the privacy he so desperately wants, needs, but! this is what you get when you're cryptic on purpose, mister man. especially when that also comes with a side of dodgy that cannot be ignored.

he's never had to do this with anyone else around, okay? it's already embarrassing enough without being watched, or whatever wolfwood ends up doing once he finally comes clean about the whole thing. which. it's really anyone's guess how long that's going to take, or if he decides to bite the bullet ( figuratively, of course ) and just get it all out in the open.

honesty is always the best policy, but apparently not when it comes to admitting that hey, uh, i lay eggs every few years? it's no big deal!

absolute idiot.

he's dead silent during the time it takes him to reach to set the juice on the little table next to the bed, the tips of his ears and the highest points of his cheeks now a darkened pink that has nothing to do with the flush from earlier. this is the kind of burning embarrassment he wouldn't wish on anyone, because this is private, and humans don't go around just talking about their intimate practices all willy-nilly, do they? well … maybe some of them do, but it can't be a normal thing, and he really is of the opinion that some things should be kept private. )

You're kinda bossy, you know that? ( he exhales with a laugh, trying to keep his tone light as another undulating wave of discomfort slips over him, and more of that dampness makes an appearance. he's really going to need to remove his pants soon if he doesn't want to end up with them ruined, but that's something for a slightly-future vash to worry about. present vash is chewing on the inside of his cheek like it might actually do something to help him out here. )

I didn't do anything to myself, if that helps. ( he starts, voice small, just this side of pathetic. he is never going to be able to come back from this, is he? ) It just sort of. Happens. ( oh boy. here we go. )

[louboutinjudas]

[ There's a scent in the air that Wolfwood's can't place. Blondie here is behaving, which is still concerning for all that it's a relief -- sure he's bossy, but he'd much rather that people just did what they were supposed to do so he didn't have to boss them around! -- and they're getting to the meat of the matter, finally, but there's still something not quite right here.

It's not the juice that he's smelling, is it? That's sure sweet enough, but this is more... hm. Like a perfume? Usually he'd identify sweet things as candy, but this isn't nearly cloying enough. It's almost, hmm. Musky?

It just sort of happens, Vash is whining, and a terrible, embarrassing, infuriating thought springs unbidden in full technicolor across Wolfwood's mind. ]

You spikey bastard.

[ Oh that tone's cold, and just dripping with poorly contained fury. He'd better be wrong about this, asshole! ]

It just happens? [ Is he hard under there?! ] If this is a sex thing I'm gonna break every one of your goddamn bones.

[ Because okay. Okay. Vash is attractive -- Wolfwood's come to terms with his terrible taste, and he can admit that, at least to himself. The body under all that shapeless nonsense that he wears is strong, with nice broad shoulders and a waist that Wolfwood's thought more than once about wrapping his hands around, just to see if it's as narrow as he thinks it is. He doesn't even mind the doofus act, most of the time, and when things are quiet, when Vash is just staring off into space Wolfwood sometimes just sits back and enjoys the view. If things were different he might buy the guy a drink and see what happened, but this is not the way he wants to find out about whatever weird as fuck sex shit Blondie here might be into! ]

[ecad]

( if there was one way to describe what wolfwood is smelling, it would be more honeyed than anything; almost like honeysuckle, even though neither of them probably know what that even is, but it's definitely floral in origin. by the end of this whole embarrassing nonsense it will be almost sickeningly sweet, and thick, and just add that on to the things that vash is never going to live down. for the rest of his life. this is it.

you spikey bastard.

yep, there it is, the cold resentment setting in before everything's even had a chance to unfold entirely, and it's not like vash could blame him, even if he wanted to. he hadn't asked for this, to be a part of it or anything else, and the thought of wolfwood seeing him in a different, negative light after this threads through him like a tangible thing. a hand around his heart that squeezes cruelly.

it's not his fault! or … okay so maybe it is, but it isn't like he's doing this on purpose, or waited until he knew you would come around to lay this very intimate thing at your feet. you spikey bastard resonates through the forefront of his mind and he lets go of another miserable sound, expression open and panicked and oh god, oh god not that. ) No! No of course it isn— ( well, when you think about it. eggs have to be fertilized, don't they? but they aren't! they never have been! ) It's, ah … it could be tied to it, I guess, I think, but this is really not a sex thing.

( he can't even allow himself to think about what that could mean otherwise, if things were different, normal, because he looks at wolfwood and sees more than just kind eyes — but as it stands now, he would really, really rather a grand worm come through the window and swallow him whole. leave nothing behind. not even a memory of this excruciatingly horrible exchange.

he hides his face behind his knees again for a small moment, then chances another peek in the undertaker's direction. ) I don't suppose you know anything about Plant cycles, do you? ( shot in the dark, of course, but why not just go ahead and ask? )

[louboutinjudas]

[ The only right answer to his accusation of perversion is frantic denial, and the threat in Wolfwood's demeanor settles back down into his usual abrasive, snarling self. Some people might get off on this, but not me! isn't answering any of his questions, but at least whatever's going on isn't... isn't that.

He really would throw Vash out the window, if it was that.

And then Vash keeps talking, and it's somehow worse than just a weird sex thing. As soon as he says the word 'plant' those folded arms drop, and Wolfwood goes from aggressive and annoyed to looking more than a little uneasy. He glances over at the door -- still very secure beneath the weight of Punisher -- and then at the window, checking for onlookers and other threats before responsding. In fact... he should probably shut that window, and draw the blinds, just to be safe. If he starts glowing, and somebody outside sees him? Then Wolfwood will have to kill them, and that'll be a whole other problem. ]

Not a goddamn thing.

[ His voice is much quieter than it had been before, as he comes back to stand awkwardly next to the bed. He's visibly nervous, at least to somebody who knows him, but not scared. Maybe in another life he'd be frightened of what Vash could do, but right here and now he's worried for this idiot. ]

What do you need?

[ecad]

( it isn't even an admission of some people might get off on this! it's more … there is normally sex involved for what's happening to me, at least there's supposed to be if something is expected to come from it, and that has literally never happened! but at least he'd given the proper response to get wolfwood to lower his hackles, even if it's just a little bit. he's still not going to blame him if he ends up tossing him out the nearest window because it ends up being too much to deal with. Too Much ( ™ ).

he really doesn't mean to make him uneasy, or uncomfortable, or anything close to it but. what is he supposed to do, if he wants the truth out of him? there is no delicate way to explain something like this, especially when vash doesn't understand every in and out of the whole thing himself — don't look at him like that, just because he's a plant doesn't mean he knows everything; do you know everything about being human? no — but he can sense the shift in the other's demeanor before he chances another look up at him, and maybe that's a good thing? also don't judge the fact that he cannot maintain direct eye contact right now. there is a lot happening inside his body presently, and it's distracting at best.

the answer he gets should have been expected, and it is, to a certain degree. even if he'd known how closely wolfwood was tethered to his brother, even in some adjacent way, he wouldn't have expected there to be any crash courses in dealing with their kind. independent, or otherwise.

vash inhales quietly, as deeply as his lungs will allow, and finally shifts to sit akin to cross-legged. he's never been so thankful that his pants are dark, because there is a blossoming wet spot between his thighs, and just that subtle bit of movement brings that sweet scent even more to the surface. ) I can't say I know a lot about them myself, if I'm honest, but I know … uh. ( where is that grand worm that's supposed to be coming to swallow him whole so he doesn't have to deal with this!?

he fidgets with the hem of one of the cuffs of his pants, worrying at a thread that's started to come loose. ) So every few years, we uh … at least I think we all do? It can't just be me— we … uhhh. ( for the love of everything, stampede, just spit it out! ) Welayeggs.

( sorry, what was that? speak up, we can't hear you. )

[louboutinjudas]

[ This is what happens when he tries to be serious! Wolfwood was absolutely ready to be supportive and help Vash here with whatever was going on, but now Blondie's just messing with him!

Eggs. Come the fuck on. ]

Is this the part where you tell me you're secretly a tomas?

[ He can see that Vash is clearly in some discomfort, squirming like his guts hurt, and there's no mistaking the scent that's heavy in the air -- something is happening.

But it's not eggs. People don't lay eggs. People have babies, and before that they have that whole crampy bleeding thing that Wolfwood tries not to think about too much. People have tumors, too, and all kinds of terrible diseases that cause pain and swelling, and people get hurt in ways that make it hard to sit still. Wolfwood's honestly halfway to convincing himself that Spikey here just ate something that he shouldn't have, and that his guts are protesting the matter -- the guy doesn't eat enough as it is, so it's entirely feasible that he's just having an upset stomach from dinner. It could be anything, really. Anything other than eggs.

How stupid does he think Wolfwood is!? ]

You might as well come clean. I'm not leavin' until you tell me what's really goin' on.

[ecad]

( he knew. he knew that if he tried to be honest that wolfwood was going to think he was messing with him, because it sounds ridiculous, right? even if he isn't human, he looks as much, and what sort of sense does it make that he would lay a handful of eggs every handful of years?

none. it makes zero sense and he knows it, and he doesn't know how he's going to make the other believe him without … uh. possibly revealing parts of himself that no one else has ever seen. human anatomy, to a certain extent, is something of a mystery to him still, but he's pretty darn sure neither gender has what he has going on for him.

god. why. why did this have to happen now. what has he done to deserve this? what god has he offended?

another wave of discomfort washes over him, and he winces visibly — crap, crapcrapcrap — and another wave of slick seeks to wet the insides of his thighs even positioned as he is, and he can't help but to think that this is … just a little bit different from the last time? more intense, in a way, and that can't be good.

he sighs. ) I am coming clean. ( pause. fidget. inhale, exhale. ) Wolfwood. ( he really does sound pleading, even if he doesn't know what he could be pleading for other than understanding. ) Why would I lie about something like this? This? It's so embarrassing … you've gotta believe me. ( please.

please believe him! )

[louboutinjudas]

[ Vash is babbling a mile a minute, but Wolfwood's only barely listening to him. No, what he's focused on instead is what the rest of the idiot is doing -- what his body is saying, instead of his mouth. He's in pain -- not bad, but present -- and there's no mistaking that scent that's getting stronger every time Vash winces.

The man glows. He's a human battery, impossibly old, capable of feats of strength and speed that even the Eye's prize monster can barely keep up with. So maybe he lays eggs too? Who's Wolfwood to say otherwise?

(Does this mean that Millions Knives lays eggs? Oh he's gonna drink until he wipes that thought out of his head, after this is over!) ]

Fuck.

[ Wolfwood runs a hand through his hair, still unable to believe what he's... what he's about to believe. His life's been so damn strange since he joined this band of lunatics! ]

Fuck, alright! Alright.

[ A broody tomas will kick the memories right out of your head if you get too close... but Wolfwood hasn't been afraid of those big dumb birds since he was a kid, and he's never going to be afraid of this sad soggy bastard here. Muttering under his breath -- he did not sign up for this, this is not in his job description, the bill for his services is going to be so goddamn high -- Wolfwood shoves his jacket sleeves up to his elbows and starts rolling his shirt cuffs up too. If it's eggs, there's going to be mess, and there's now a little flush high on each cheek as he tries hard not to think about what that sweet scent indicates about the source of that mess, and what's about to happen here.

Eggs. The man lays eggs. ]

So what do you need, a nest? How're we doin' this? Gimme something to work with here.

[ Yeah, he said 'we'. Don't make a big deal out of it. ]

[ecad]

( speaking of glowing, his markings are already beginning to flicker a little bit here and there; it's always when emotions run high, when he's flustered or afraid or just feeling so intensely that there is no way of hiding it, and this … he's never thought about what it means to glow when he gets closer to laying his clutch, but he thinks again that it might have something to do with wolfwood being so close, and now being so — transparent about wanting to help him?

he doesn't know. he doesn't know and he may as well just pile that in with everything else that eludes him. there's a lot of that these days, and sometimes it's all he can do to effectively grin and bear it as best he can, because what else is he supposed to do?

wolfwood is cursing, and vash is half-expecting him to finally get up and walk out, because this has to be too much to deal with on top of everything else they've been through recently, and he hates it, because no, he didn't ask for this. should feel no obligation to stick around or even make sure he's all right at the end of it, he wouldn't have asked him to in the first place —

but then he's asking what he needs. how we — we — are doing this, and it makes vash's chest ache in an almost pleasant sort of way. his expression is soft, vulnerable when he looks up at him again, and then down at the pile of threadbare linens he's accumulated. ) Um. ( intelligent, stampede.

he fidgets again, shifting the blanket and sheet around him. ) Whatever can pass for one with what we've got, I guess, it's always like … a compulsion to make one? If that makes any sense at all. ( nothing about this makes sense, vash. surely you realize that by now.

the line of his mouth thins as he looks down at his lap again, not even wanting to think about the mess he's about to make. ) I should … probably take my pants off before it gets too far along, or there's gonna be an even bigger mess and nobody wants to deal with that. ( he pauses, lets the silence stretch out between them far longer than he should. ) I gotta warn you, it's uh— I'm not— it's weird.

( well of course it is. you aren't human. but it's something he's always been self-conscious about, even if there's never been anyone else to see him like this. to know how different he is. )

[louboutinjudas]

[ It's a good thing Wolfwood closed the curtains then, if Vash is doing his best glowworm routine. He needs a nest, too, apparently, and Wolfwood's already heading into the tiny en suite to pull whatever towels there might be in there. He'll leave one, for cleanup later -- he's got a feeling that whatever's about to happen might need a shower at the end -- but the other one should probably go under Blondie's ass. ]

Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first eight times!

[ The towels in this place are just as threadbare as the bedding, so Wolfwood folds the towel in half, and then in half again. It's not much of a pad, but Vash isn't a little kid who's going to thrash around in the night pissing himself, is he? He's a grown ass adult and he can keep his mess contained, dammit. ]

You're gonna shit out a couple eggs, or... or pussy 'em out, however it works and yeah.

[ Move back, dummy, so he can set out this towel. ]

It's gonna be weird. Stop apologizing, you're makin' it weirder.

[ecad]

( he flushes an even deeper shade of pink at wolfwood's choice wording — pussy 'em out, sheesh — and averts his gaze, shuffling back and letting the other set the newly folded towel down. what he's got going for him as far as anatomy goes, he supposes that would be close enough, save for a few key … er, differences.

he'd taken his boots off the moment he'd gotten back to the room, and now he takes a moment to peel off his socks and set them carefully aside. he hesitates here, knowing that the next feasible decision would be to get his pants out of the way but fearing the reaction he's going to get, even if wolfwood is being the logical one here. in the face of all this weirdness, vash has to admit that he seems to be taking it all in stride, as well as could be expected, and he appreciates that. he really does.

he huffs out his next exhale, fingers moving to the front of his pants and working open button and zipper, and just that is enough to bring another wave of that sickeningly sweet scent into the room; he moves as little as possible, shimmying both pants and undershorts down little by little until he can kick them off and away. they are definitely going to need a good wash, but of course that isn't the biggest thing worth noticing in the here and now.

to start, there are petals. little appendages that are close enough to qualify as such unfurling at his core, soft and colored like the sun except at the edges, where they almost seem to glow a muted, pastel blue. at his center, plush little lips made to glisten with the slick that is now visibly dripping down the insides of his thighs and at the apex, a hooded nub that may as well serve as a clit for how sensitive it is, especially when he's like this.

every bit of him is swollen as though aroused, and he's not about to tell wolfwood that an orgasm or two always helps the eggs come more easily, because he has a feeling the other won't be happy about that? because of his immediate thought that this was all a sex thing —

he pulls his knees up again, trying to maintain at least a bit of his modesty, but it's. not going very well, is it?

he presses a weak smile into the bend of his knee. always trying to stay positive. ) It's time to play the waiting game now, I guess. Sometimes it starts all fast and then slows down. It's never consistent.

[louboutinjudas]

[ He doesn't mean to look. He really doesn't. He understands that eggs means that Spikey's junk is going to be involved, okay, but he was putting that thought aside for the time being, busying himself with thoughts of privacy and wet spots on the bed and quietly running in circles in his own head, flailing with panic.

He doesn't mean to look, and he doesn't intend to look when it happens. He's just curious -- professionally so, since he's playing farmer this evening to the world's strangest tomas -- about that slick stuff, and where, exactly, these eggs are supposed to be coming from. Is he going to piss them out like caviar? A tomas eggs, compared to the size of the bird, are far bigger than they really should be, and Wolfwood's already thinking about an infant-sized egg when he catches sight of something brilliantly yellow and fanned out like... like...

No, he's got no comparisons for this. He's never seem anything like this before, in all his very short life.

He's still staring when Vash pulls his knees up, and only then does he look away, embarrassed. He's supposed to be helping out his... his target, the man he's been tasked with guarding until he can be taken into custody by the devil himself, he's here to make sure Vash doesn't die, or get hurt! And sure, those yellow and blue fingers (is that what they are?) are pretty, but that doesn't mean anything! They're not for him. He's not made for pretty things.

This is a job. Stick to the job. ]

How, uh...

[ He doesn't dare sit on the edge of the bed, so standing just off to the side with his hands deep in his pockets is the next best thing. ]

How many are we talking here?

[ If there's going to be multiple eggs, they have to be tiny, Wolfwood reasons. Vash is a skinny bastard, for all his muscles, and his belly doesn't look like its hiding any secrets. Marble sized, maybe. Little things.

Although this is sure a lot of slick and cramping for something marble sized. ]

[ecad]

( he's sure wolfwood doesn't mean to look, means to give him any measure of privacy that could even serve as such a thing when he's so exposed — but even knowing that he is looking, can feel his gaze on him despite the fact that his own is focused on a scattering of freckles on his right knee, it doesn't make him feel … self-conscious? something like that. but it does make him feel warm, and some distant, latently debauched part of him wants him to look. to understand what he's getting himself into here, and … he doesn't know. appreciate how vulnerable he's allowing himself to be with him.

it sounds silly, even in his own head. but he can't help what his thoughts do or where they go, and especially not like this.

his petals seem to fan out even more under the other's eyes before he looks away, the tiny little tendrils scattered through them acting almost as if they want to reach for him, and vash thinks stop that, we don't do that, we usually do this alone and this isn't about to be any different! there's just … an audience … moral support! that's it!

he's in the process of peeling off his glove when that question comes, and he hums a bit under his breath as he sets the slip of fabric aside, bare hand now slipping down to absently sift through the topmost of his petals, and the touch is nowhere near sexual by any means, but maybe trying for some measure of comfort? yeah. we'll go with that. ) No more than a handful, usually. ( he finally says, almost conversationally, made easier by the fact that the discomfort has subsided for the time being.

he holds up that hand and uses prosthetic fingers to measure the length of his palm where wolfwood can see. ) About that size. Sometimes a little bigger, sometimes smaller. When I say there's no consistency … ( oh boy does he mean it!

he unfolds his legs again, letting them stretch out in front of him. ) You're not … creeped out, are you? Told you it was— ( he knows, vash. you really can stop repeating yourself. ) Sorry.

[louboutinjudas]

[ It's stupid for Blondie to trust him with this, and after they're done here he'll say so, loudly, repeatedly, and probably violently. He should have kicked Wolfwood out the door the second he'd walked in. He should have lied, claimed indigestion, pretended to have company over, anything to stop a vulnerability like this from being shared with somebody like Nicholas the Punisher. This is a mistake that Spikey's making, and it's going to get him hurt.

He waves off the suggestion that he's creeped out, tapping out a cigarette so he's got something to do with his hands, aand something to focus his gaze on other than Vash's fingers combing through his whatever-they-are. It might not be a sex thing, but that sure looks sexy to him.

Why the fuck couldn't it have just been a neglected injury?! ]

And I told you, it doesn't matter what I think about it.

[ It's not creepy, goddamn. He's not frightened that Vash has pussy fingers that are about to spawn a whole bunch of too-large eggs. He's confused, a little disgusted, more than a little curious, furious that Vash is being so casual with such a risky secret... but scared?

How the fuck could he be scared of a dork like this? ]

What else do I need to know? There's gonna be a bunch, so what do you do with 'em? After?

[ Are they going to hatch? Is there a flock of baby Vashes out there in the world somewhere? God, now he's thinking about it. He doesn't want to be thinking about it. ]

[ecad]

( oh, but he's really good at making mistakes, don't you know? though he can't really say he thinks of this as one, per se, because he does trust wolfwood. he trusts his kind eyes, and his passionate heart, and all the other little things he doesn't know about him, but wants to.

if he had to share this with anyone instead of bearing the weight of it alone, he would prefer it be him. even if he ends up voicing his opinion on the matter after the fact.

bare fingers slip over those topmost petals again, and a wave of something different thrums through him this time; his inner muscles tighten, but not in the uncomfortable way this had all started. more of a pleasant sort of buzz that asks for more, more of that, please, and he bites back a breathy exhale that he tries to keep behind his teeth, lest the other perceive it as something sexual. even though … okay, yeah, that felt a whole heck of a lot better than the discomfort from earlier, to be sure.

he continues to pet over his petals almost absently, those tiny little tendrils curling around the tips of his fingers and his next breath out is shaky. thin. just short of the quietest little moan as his thighs part infinitesimally. )

They aren't gonna be, ah … fertilized, so you could call 'em duds if you wanted. ( the admission of that makes his heart ache behind his ribs, even if it's only because emotions and plant hormones are running too high. ) I've only ever cleaned up the mess and … disposed of them.

( he doesn't want to say i just throw them away, even though that's precisely what he does. it feels like a terrible thing to say, even if there is no way in any hell that has ever existed that he could take care of a handful of. what? mini independents? he's never let himself think that far.

his touch shifts unconsciously a bit further downward, through the petals that frame his core, and he's rewarded with a new, embarrassingly noticeable drip of slick. he winces, but only because he's got one more thing to come clean about. the one thing he really doesn't want to. the blush at the tips of his ears and the high points of his cheeks deepens. )

There's one more thing … and it makes it easier, but you're gonna think I was lying before if I tell you. ( vash. you are really not helping your let's keep wolfwood from getting angrier case. dummy. )

[louboutinjudas]

[ They aren't fertilized, and they're going to throw them away. Wolfwood nods, somewhat relieved to hear it. Vash isn't having kids right now, and that's for the best. If they were live in there, he's not sure what he would have done, but chances are it would have been another scar on his soul. ...Not that Vash would have let him do anything truly awful, but they would have had to have been left somewhere, and Vash's feet put back on the road. He can't imagine how that would fuck up somebody as soft-hearted as the Stampede here.

So it's in a haze of relief that he shrugs off Vash's next comment, ignoring it as studiously as he's ignoring those little gasps and groans. ]

Spikey, I stopped thinking about any of this minutes ago.

[ His gaze is fixed on a point in the wall well past the top of Vash's head, but even like this he can see too much. It's easier to just keep his back to the man, so he doesn't give in to the temptation to look. ]

Just tell me what you need so we can get this over with.

[ecad]

( yeah … yeah. as much as his stupid bleeding heart understands that there is nothing to be done for unfertilized eggs, it still hurts him to just. leave them behind. maybe it's because they were a part of him, because his body produced them and, again, emotions and hormones are running high, but he always feels horrible for a few days after everything is over and done with.

not that he isn't planning to keep that sort of thing as hidden as he possibly can from wolfwood once he's through this. he doesn't need this, much less vash's stupid heart on top of everything else. he'll try to keep a lid on it, okay? you might just need to … bear with him for a little bit. he'll get through it, he promises.

he swallows hard, throat working in a dry click that he feels is audible in the relative silence; he doesn't need to say what he's prepared to, because he can try to get through it without that extra help! it just means that it might take longer, or it might be more uncomfortable, he's not entirely sure he remembers. once he'd figured out this little secret he hadn't thought twice about not implementing it, because it meant the whole thing would be over sooner and he could get back to. whatever he's supposed to get back to.

there's a stretch of quiet, and he unconsciously rubs his bare feet together in the interim, not unlike a cricket or grasshopper that he used to read so much about back on the ship. he's not sure he remembers which is which these days. ) I don't need it— I'm not asking for help! But it's always just … so much easier to get them out when I … if I … ( just say it, vash. )

If I come.

( god. god. he is never going to live this down, is he? that grand worm can come along any time, now … seriously. )

[louboutinjudas]

[ Did it just get very cold in here? Wolfwood turns with the slowness of a stalking predator, and if the expression on his face is any indication of his mental state, he's planning on tearing Vash's throat out with his teeth.

(This is accurate. He's thinking about it.) ]

If you what.

[ Tentacle-y plant junk he can handle. Eggs he can handle -- he's wigged out and nothing's even happened yet on that front, but he's handling it! But if Blondie here thinks that he's going to sit back and watch while he gets himself off!? Then he's got another think coming.

...Fuck, he doesn't want to think about coming! ]