the iron lady

Dragon's Nest

"Meryl..." His voice seems too soft, and he notices. He winces at himself for it, whether it was noticed or cared about irrelevant; Vash hates that he's thinking of her as fragile when she's not, she's not, it's just...

A moment. A very bad moment, and when she coughs he still doesn't know how to help. Stay back and let her signal him if she needs something? Lean in and support her, hold her upright? What will do less damage, long-term? Offer less pain short-term? He's only got the basics of the ideas down, of what's wrong and how to treat it, except those options are perilously limited and--

There's no one else around to distract, to remind. He has to stay calm, keep them both calm, and think. Then act. There's no time and limited chances, and humans are--

No, not fragile. They aren't.

He lets Meryl move on her own, supporting her the moment they make contact again. Gently, carefully, letting her words reassure. As much as they can. Shelter still seems important, but she has a point. If they hope to be discovered they'll have to take a chance and be seen--

And that idea is almost immediately tested. A vehicle. Vash goes over the possibilities as best he can: good and bad. The best case scenario, the worst. He doesn't want to dwell on the worst, but there has to be a plan if it goes badly, if it's not help, and that only involves the use of his gun. Hopefully not past the subtle threat stage, but...

"Yeah." It's a whisper, agreement with Meryl and settling things in his own mind. He's going to protect her, keep her safe. Squinting, he's increasingly annoyed by the stream of sand dust that's billowing out all over; that makes it hard to see anything he can identify. "It looks-- It looks like it's been in an accident recently." He's talking faster than he means to, trying to relay information and keep his annoyance at bay. The side is clearly damaged when he can actually see it, anywhere a typical logo or identifying mark would be partially scraped off and dented to begin with.

He takes a breath to ask a question, make a suggestion, anything, but they're too quickly going to come to the point where it'll be too late to make a decision. He won't let it be made for them. Trying his best not to jostle Meryl at all, he leans forward enough to be sure to catch the sunlight, taking a chance and holding his breath as he holds out his prosthetic arm, waving it in a wide sweep. He's not sure it's the right decision, he knows he's going to have to get on his feet soon if it starts to look more like enemy than friend, but--

The probability of being ambushed is high, of being hunted just as much so if not higher. When she had been certain her message had gotten through, there was not a lot of time to ensure that whoever was on the other could promise they were a friend or ally. Perhaps someone pretending to be to earn enough of her trust so that Meryl could relay their coordinates as best as she could.

Coordinates that would lead whoever was in that truck directly to them.

Vash's description of there being a dish secured atop the truck makes her think of a similar thing where they might be encountering someone who could help them rather than hinder their chances at survival.

Bernardelli are known to secure satellite dishes to their trucks and trailers; however, that doesn't necessarily mean it's one of the field agents. What with further description on the truck's current state, the original occupants could have been forced to flee, or were killed, and the truck taken by whoever may have overpowered them.

Worst case scenarios play like a film reel in her mind, one bad situation happening after another until she can hear the slight screech of brakes before the truck comes to a stop near the outcropping.

The door clicks open and the slams shut as she can hear hurried steps faltering in the shifting sands before a cry falls on her ears.

She would recognize that voice anywhere and Meryl wants to burst into a sob as the form of Milly Thompson is haloed by the light of the dual suns.

"I have a first-aid kit in the truck, but we have to get her back to headquarters."

Milly knows who Vash is, but does not waste a single moment with pleasantries when Meryl's life is on the line. "You have a good hold on her? Okay, let's go so we can see what we're working with."

Since Milly had joined the agency, there had been growing pains regarding her newly appointed position. At times, she'll look to the passenger side and expect to see Roberto there, but either it's empty or it's been Milly who has been sitting beside her. The truck still carries memory of when it had been the four of them; despite the months travelling together, there are moments when Meryl thinks time has passed too quickly or felt like it's dragged on.

Regardless, and not because Milly has come to save them, time feels like it has sped up and before she can tell what is going on, Meryl is in the backseat, Vash with her, as Milly resumes driving, asking for check-ins every so often while doing her best to keep a handle on the driving.

The dips and bumps from the dunes can't be avoided as Meryl winces every time she can feel the truck bounce, but it hardly holds a candle to the pain she's currently in—another thing that she tries not to focus on.

"Vash?"

“Eeeh…” 

Wolfwood shrugs. 

Not his finest explanation, but calories are calories and the end of days leaves them rather pressed for choice. 

“Whatever ya ain’t havin’.” Sadly, the few remaining squares of jerky, tough enough to be made into a pair of shoes, is probably the most nutritionally-sound food item that they have on hand. She hasn’t gotten a real answer!, the alarm bells in his head ring. Wolfwood adds hastily, “Crackers.” 

At least that’s a step up from ‘why, nothin’ at all but some good sunshine and crisp, fresh air’ with a heaping helping of four feet and eleven inches of angry, womanly whoopass.   

Better yet, Meryl hands him the exotic delicacy which he fashioned out of the burden of necessity and Wolfwood waves the pathetic excuse for a sandwich to call attention to the fact that he is, in fact, eating something and not ripping entire pages out of Vash’s book on self care.

He grins as Meryl daydreams about real food, and maybe it doesn’t hurt if he lets himself dream a little too. 

“What I wouldn’t give for a big bowl a’ noodles. In a thick, fatty broth, dipped in salty soup, stirred in with butter, dry with a million fixins’… “ Every which way he can think of to dress a portion of noodles, with nice, big fat slices of seared meat. He could polish down five bowls right now if someone dropped them into his lap. 

Wishful thinking.

The best he can do is imagine rich umami soaking onto his tongue where in reality he has crumbling bits of cracker bread. In the past, worm hunting was always an option. Even Zazie has made themselves scarce as of late. Damn it all.

“You, me, big girl, and him.” A finger pointed at Meryl, a thumb jabbed into his chest. A promise or something close to it. After this is all over. “Put it on yer boss’s tab,” he laughs, sweeping crumbs off the front of his jacket.

Even with their short meal stop, they can make good time if they take Angelina for all the battery power she’s got. They won’t be talking much with the wind whipping at their faces, so best that they clear up this portion of their plan now. The hierarchy of needs has provided a brief distraction from their mission. Sobering, Wolfwood jerks his chin in the direction of the door. “Alright missy, let’s get this show back on the road. We’re gonna get there in one shot. Your contact have some kinda name?”

A pause by the doorway, where Nicholas does not immediately let Meryl pass.

They cannot fail.

She’d once been good at keeping everything ship-shape even if things were capsizing around her. No Man’s Land has a tendency to create unknown obstacles even if the people here have adjusted to this roughened life. Staring down a barrel of a gun to stall for time while also protecting those she cares about? Not a problem. Working on overcoming her fear at being subjected to a tidal wave of raw emotions and memories depicting something utterly traumatic? She’s working on it.

It is a struggle to rip off a piece of jerky with her teeth, more so to chew it, as it feels like leather in her mouth rather than a piece of cured meat, and if it had taken her this long to finish a bite, they’d be here all day long. Meryl pockets the rest, just in case, and can’t help but nod in agreement to Wolfwood’s description of a bowl of noodles. Wouldn’t matter if it was too hot for soup, she’d easily have a bowl herself with the way he talked about how it would come prepared. The image of both of them sitting flanked by Vash and Milly comes to her and Meryl mentally adds that to her to-do list, even if that voice of reason is telling her to not get too far ahead.

Sometimes it helps to have something to look forward to rather than just focusing on the present. 

She gives another cursory glance at their shared meal, looking over anything she can slip into pockets that might serve them well, but she refrains, other than pocketing the rest of the jerky. She doesn’t know what will be required of them when they get to the ship, and if it would mean leaving things behind. 

She’s about to head out the door when she knocks into Nicholas’s back, staring up at him with a mild bout of confusion, “Wolf—”

Meryl stops talking and listens, understanding what he’s saying and where he’s coming from. In the short while they have been travelling together, despite what she learned from Zazie, she trusts him.

Because if they intend to see this through, there can’t be any doubt in her heart about him. 

“Yeah, his name is Bhodi. When we arrive at Ship Three, he gave me a code word to use once we’re close enough and he’ll be the one to see us inside. If there’s time, maybe we’ll be lucky enough to snag some walkie-talkies for us to keep in touch.”

It feels like a tall order, especially since neither of them have a visual to plan out what will meet them once at Ship Three, but she thinks Bhodi won’t let them split up without being prepared. She hopes, at least.

“Okay.”

The pit in her stomach grows heavier with each passing second knowing there is no turning back from this point on. 

　ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

¹⁾ an old bruise

²⁾ a green duffel bag

³⁾ tangerine quarters

⁴⁾ vending machine coffee

⁵⁾ two hair ties

⁶⁾ voicemail

⁷⁾ a crystal ball

⁸⁾ second cousins

⁹⁾ crumpled cinema tickets

¹⁰⁾ a dimly-lit warehouse

¹¹⁾ loose batteries

¹²⁾ brown eyeliner

¹³⁾ boardwalk

¹⁴⁾ pointe shoes

¹⁵⁾ a hula hoop

¹⁶⁾ a black scrub top

¹⁷⁾ sock puppets

¹⁸⁾ eleven

¹⁹⁾ limestone

²⁰⁾ tiger balm

²¹⁾ vice-principal

²²⁾ two years

²³⁾ a sprained ankle

²⁴⁾ finches

²⁵⁾ sea salt

²⁶⁾ a balaclava

²⁷⁾ a suntan

²⁸⁾ warm concrete

²⁹⁾ cornflower blue

³⁰⁾ old westerns

Tilting her chin to angle them better for a deeper kiss, Vash does allow his tongue to part her lips this time, eagerly licking into her mouth as he presses forward and sidles their noses side by side. With her steady on top of him, his hand wanders down her spine to her tailbone, only stopping once he's captured a handful of her rear to squeeze. There's a need beginning to bloom underneath his skin, but he'd like to see what direction this goes naturally first.

"So," he hums, separating their mouths with a pop, "What's so important that you need fifteen minutes of my time, Ms. Reporter?"

It's his turn to nip at fair skin, flushed pink as he trails kisses down Meryl's jawline to the crook of her neck. He lightly bites down, then laps at the skin under the slight suction of a kiss to give her a matching bruise. Not keen to stop there, Vash kisses down her shoulder, nudging the collar of Wolfwood's shirt out of the way with his chin, then ending with another bruising kiss.

Then, those people were taken from her in what felt like the rug was being tugged out from right beneath her. She once thought she had everything and was then left, quite suddenly, with nothing.

Nothing except for the anger pulsing through her, demanding answers, but knowing they wouldn't be freely given—and certainly not without a great cost. At some point, she became lost along the way when she was consumed with her hunt for revenge, a reporter turned outlaw. Had it not been for Vash and Wolfwood to ground her, as she had done for them, it's both easy and difficult to imagine the sort of person she could have become had they not been together.

And even when it had been her for a while before finding Wolfwood again, after both of them losing Vash, there was still that hope that they would all find each other again. She just didn't think it would be going to hell and back for it to happen.

And she knows pieces of that hell have remained with all of them, in some way.

She spends a few moments breathing him in, inhaling his scent, and basking in the closeness as he holds her, his strength letting her know she can easily lean on him as he can do the same with her. Perhaps not as physically strong as both Vash and Wolfwood, but her strength comes from that iron will of hers.

Steadfast, unbent, and true.

It takes her another moment to gather her thoughts after that bruising kiss and Meryl feels more than content to shelve what she's been wanting to ask him in favour of continuing this. But, as she does, she persists and pulls back once prompted.

"I have something for you," and while she is unwilling to leave his side, even for a moment, Meryl slides off the bed and opens the first drawer of their dresser and picks up a ring hiding in between socks. It takes a matter of a few seconds, but it could have felt like lifetimes because there are times where she can barely believe that this is their life now—after the devastation, the hopelessness, the despair; nothing fought for never came without a steep cost.

"I gave Nicholas one and I had hoped to give one to you as well before but...," she knows she doesn't need to finish that sentence. "Lemme see if it fits?"

He keeps walking, one hand against the wall himself as he leads the way. The tunnel seems to be straight, at least for the moment and Knives says nothing about her haphazard light swinging. Even if he wants to.

When she finally calms enough to keep it steady and start asking questions, he snorts in amusement. "Days, probably. We're crossing most of the planet."

There is already enough experience under her belt to know that, despite everything, NoMan's Land remains a cut-throat place to be, but she can speak for the other side of the planet. The unexplored territory holds as much mysteries as it does dangers and perhaps the only one who would know what was going on there would be Zazie.

Meryl manages to not fumble with the flashlight as much when her hand brushes up against something soft...something organic.

She stifles her cry and picks up the pace, trying to keep up with Knives's strides as he leads them further and further down.

"Everything looks the same down here. I wouldn't even know where to begin looking." As her eyes adjust to the darkness, Meryl can make out a few more burrowed tunnels that vary in openings; some are small and narrow while others are immense and she can't help but think of the giant worm that swallowed them in what feels like once upon a time.