to the future —

So, gently, Vash's arms once again wrap around his successor. Quiet, at least for now. Hair that was once more of a fluffy mass now pokes a bit under the line of his jawbone as it sinks down.

"Silly," he finally says through wobbling silence, voice low. "You should know, 'least a little bit. You already have friends, whether they're here or not." Somewhere on that planet he had never once stepped foot on there were people that loved Vash the Stampede, regardless of any and all of the possible kicking and screaming. That, at least, he was sure of, with how hard it had been hammered into his own skull-- no matter how difficult a time he still had grappling with it, too.

He's being embraced.

The last person to offer a move of comfort like this was Jessica, after he'd been made to take Hoppered's life. Live and suffer. Yet that point-blank curse hadn't dissuaded her from that quiet move of consolation, either.

It's not what I meant, he wants to say. Of course, he wasn't alone any longer. But being friends with him, with this alternate self who'd visibly overcome tough and tender days yet to arrive for this one...

He grimaces. He's been bad at socializing his entire life, save for one or two people, and as much as he needs to learn his way around...the concept of both being alive, and somewhere entirely new, is simply throwing him off alone. But at least he's got a phone, even if it's practically a brick.

(He wonders if the eyes that meet the stranger's look empty. People always told him that they did, like flattened glass, before.)

"Me has...two questions. Should this be considered an afterlife? Regardless of the answer to that -- do you know anywhere here that sells a good pastrami on rye?"

If there's anything Centipede knows about himself, it's that he's a stress eater...and this is a reasonable amount of stress to be under.

It's not difficult to sense the anxiety coming from this apparent newcomer. Nor is it difficult to give the guy a friendly smile in return, regardless entirely of the noticably dimmed look to his eyes. Everyone's been new before.

"Lemme show you the way. 'S hardly far from here." Vash gives the other a once-over, just to make sure Centipede's unharmed. With seaglassy prosthetic fingers, he nudges orange lenses further up the bridge of his nose before he motions with the same hand to follow.

His continued shoulder-to-shoulder walk afterward retains the same speed, as though Vash had already planned to go hit up a deli anyway.

A light chuckle leaves Meryl as she shakes her head. "No, Millie preferred a gateau mille-feuille with ceylon tea." There's a somber smile on her face. "But she did like shopping, and vacations."

Loss is never pleasant to manage, even if the window to have appreciated someone's presence was short. Vash hopes the sentiment helps his new friend to process these feelings.

"Ceylon tea..." Vash chews on a grape while in consideration of what he's being taught. "We could search out tins of it, so we both have the quick means t'brew her some, whenever again she returns."

"Fact is, you're not stealin' anything, 'least not the way I see it. You're right-- you've been right-- about the fact that you n' him aren't the same. What he knew and what you know draw that line." A vague hand wave. "Somethin' there about the ship a' Theseus, I guess, I guess, if you dig hard enough for it."

"His life woulda' been yours, eventually. Does that mean he'd be stealing, too?"

That same quiet sadness from their last meeting still permeates, inescapable in its silent persistence. It doesn't seem to matter whether or not its welcome, whether or not he tries to shoo it away. Probably it would have been there regardless of which of his successors he was talking to, in some way.

"Not gonna fight you." His gut feels tight, like it's expecting a blow anyway. "He's gone. And I'm here. Losin' people... I know what that means for us."

It's why those scars ache; it's why, alongside the nightmares, he feels like he's still running and running in that endless field of geraniums, reaching up for her. She sounded happy, even as she was going on ahead. So this is how it's like.

"So, thank you, too. For choosing t'hold onto those memories of who I used to be. I've seen it in all of you who chose to love him." Smiling like this, tears rolling down like this, it feels a bit embarrassing in front of an alternate self. But he can't help being himself. "Bein' friends with me, what's—ah, what's... That l-look like, any...?"

Vash frowns, eyebrows furrow. It doesn't negate the fact that he hadn't been around like he should have been, not for either of them, even after he had promised to be. It's a debt he still owes, one he's proven time and time again to be bad at paying off.

The fact that maybe, apparently, something had stuck from their previous meeting doesn't even necessarily feel... good. He's not entirely sure how it feels, exactly, if he's being honest. Maybe this was why his successor had always gotten so frustrated with him-- why he'd gotten so angry in return. It's hard to listen to.

Instead of escalating into yet another argument ( though he had yet to have a proper one with this man, hadn't he? ) though, Vash sighs and runs a palm down his face in an attempt to keep fire starter from meeting kindling.

"Okay," he starts.

"How do you figure? Just-- from hearin' those?"

The line in the sand drawing the differences between his sisters and himself always felt impossibly broad, no matter their list of similarities. The younger Stampede drawing a bridge between them as he is feels ill-earned.

" 'Cause like I said, I do appreciate the thought, n' all. Just-- don't really know what to do with it, y'know? 'Sides sayin' thank you." Regardless of whether or not he actually wants it.

Thank you didn't at all mean he accepted the sentiment in the slightest, clearly. But pushing that angle had only made the other Vash cling tighter to that denial.

"I'd thought by sending you what you asked for, you'd've had something t'say t'me." Anything to address the voice memos' contents, he means. "Whether you do after all, you should know..."

Hesitation. His hand moves from holding the inside of his elbow to clutch at his hip instead. His gaze darts to the side; an quick exhale, and he's ready to try to look the other in the eyes again. Orange lenses do little to hide the fear.

"I'm not sure what a friendship with me would do for you, exactly." (I'm scared of you.)

"'Cause you... Already know things about me that I don't know. Already experienced things with who I used to be that I can't access as my own. N'I don't know how to make myself ready for something like that." It feels like he's some kind of madman, now, giving these months-long rushing fears his voice—their voice?

Desperate to change the subject from herself and otherwise stuck with the man for the time being, her gaze flickered over his appearance to find something different to talk about.

The Stampede perks up when he's more directly spoken to, beaming at once when the hog feed's addressed. It's clear he's proud to care for the animal in question.

"Oh! Yeah! Got a giant boar back at home waiting for this." The pacifist makes a partial lift of his shoulder to indicate the bag, then pats it twice with his hand. Right away, his free hand's rummaging in his coat. "Which is like a 'pig', which ain't much at all like a bird, 'sides the rideable part. Hold on, I've some cute photos of him."

Deftly, his fingers manipulate his recovered phone from his jacket; a phone charm of a little fat bird dangles from the corner of it, bumping against his knuckles. Soon enough, Vash hands over his phone to the other to take so that she could see for herself, while he happily continues babbling. Enthused in the meanwhile, he doesn't seem to notice the last of the cyclists have come and gone.

"Those little blue dots're flowers I weave into the longer tufts of his fur, toward the front. Still a young guy, so those tusks still have some growin' t'do. He's fond of resting in mud, eating, and lately he's been getting into playing fetch. Razra's his name!"

Most of the photos illustrate the beast in stillness rather than motion; they're largely of the giant boar napping in the shade of what seems to be a giant spaceship. Vash has decorated some of the photos with digital stickers, overlaying bowties and flowers onto the boar.

So he doesn't. Lets it play out there, plain as day, yet again. To this person who really, probably, shouldn't see it. He'd know, though, probably, if Vash had pulled one out of the dusty old wardrobe, no matter how much he wants to.

The smile that cracks across his face isn't a falsehood-- nor is it a happy one, either, nor is the quiet laugh that accompanies it.

"I treated him so poorly. I can't blame him for what he met me with in return."

"It's funny. You're sayin' you don't want to make the same mistakes, but I'm the one who keeps makin' 'em."

What must if have been like? Being 'new' for the first time was hard enough, but to be so yet again, with everything hanging in the air around his successor-

"Far from it. How you treated him doesn't change how you'd told him 'no'."

Aware of it now, Vash consciously eases up on his anxious hold of his arm. He's careful to watch his volume and tone, softening it without changing his choice in words. "N'how he felt about it was his responsibility to handle, not yours."

They're gonna go nowhere fast if the other guy's gonna keep up these what-ifs and what-abouts.

Habit. Before the younger Stampede even gets a chance to finish, of course he finds himself barging in. To say he's sorry, that the reason they were like that was--

He's beaten to the punch, anyway. Left blinking in confusion, staring at his counterpart. Still can't wrap his head very far around anything other than the fact that he should still be the one apologizing.

It takes a moment- he always seems to be good at that, no matter which one. Stealing the words right out of Vash's mouth.

Finally, finally, he thaws. Shakes his head.

"Nah."

"No. I—I heard the same thing you did. It's clear t'me that he kept disrespectin' your boundaries, no matter how much you tried t'make him understand."

It's a tale exactly as old as they are. Some naïve Independent Plant sees fit to do what was best for someone else's sake, without even trying to ask if that's what they wanted—without asking what it is that they wanted at all.